


DRABBLES - Anduin and the Evil Overlord

by JaguarMirror



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Drabble, Humor, Multi, My brain without adult supervision, October challenge, Sometimes it's not funny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:02:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 19,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26766238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaguarMirror/pseuds/JaguarMirror
Summary: Drabble fiction (short pieces, up to 2,000 words) for October.Why mess around with just any old writing prompt when you can pick and choose from theEVIL OVERLORD LIST?-- http://legendspbem.angelfire.com/eviloverlordlist.html(this is what happens when my brain runs off without adult supervision)
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw
Comments: 219
Kudos: 48





	1. Anduin and the Evil Overlord

"Wrathion, it's _TIGHTS!_ " He wasn't shrieking. High Kings don't shriek, Anduin told himself, though at this point a good shrieking might accomplish something where a certain black dragon was concerned. Not that anything else in his arsenal had worked against the reptile, but there was always a chance.

"Manly tights," the dragon purred. "In fact, it's the uniform of a hero in another timeline. Robert of Locksley. He was very successful in leading a revolt. And manly." He held up the green garment for inspection. "Supple, form-fitting, easy to get around in. These are green, but I can make them in Stormwind blue. It will start a trend." 

"Not if I have anything to say about it."

Wrathion draped them over Anduin's arms and then ran his claw-tipped fingers up and down the fabric very suggestively. "Can't you just imagine Mathias Shaw in these?" 

He could, and that was part of the problem. "No. We're not going there. If I was to suddenly decide that this is going to be the uniform for the Lion's Guards, I will have a full scale revolt on my hands." Anduin shoved the leggings back at the dragon. "No. Just no."

Wrathion produced a sketch from his satchel. "Look. It has a jerkin. With nice manly leather laces."

"I don't care if it has gherkins and lettuce. Absolutely not. And what's with this 'manly' cant of yours? Half my guards are women!"

Diversionary tactics seldom worked on Wrathion. He produced another sketch. "It also has a hat. Women like hats. Did I show you the hat? And the hat has a jaunty feather."

"Yes you did and the answer is still 'no'." Blue eyes glittered dangerously.

Wrathion folded his arms and gave a mock pout. "Honestly, you make fixing your security such a chore, Anduin."

"Did I ask you to fix it?"

"No, but if I count correctly you've had at least three major incursions into the throne room including several where demons and other offenders were dressed as your guards. And admit it -- you'd notice if some tentacle-spewing thing was slouching around in _these_."

Anduin leaned in until he was nose-to-nose with Wrathion. "I will take my chances with tentacles." 

"Can I watch when you do?"

The scowl deepened and there was just a hint of teeth. "I think that Flynn suggested that you go back to Boralus and offer it to Auric's Angels. I hear they're terribly un-secure. I'm sure they'll know exactly what to do with it."

"Very well. But it's a real waste." Wrathion gave a theatrical sigh and wave. "You'd make such a wonderful Evil Overlord." 

"Out."


	2. Questions - (DRABBLE)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another drabble. Flynn gets kidnapped by the Evil Overlord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I will not interrogate my enemies in the inner sanctum -- a small hotel well outside my borders will work just as well."  
> (Evil Overlord List)

Flynn Fairwind shook his head and tried to figure out why things were so dark and fuzzy and why he couldn't sit up. "Gregor?" The last thing he remembered was having a drink with a friend from Boralus and talking about recent open contracts. He'd ordered a fairly weak ale before Gregor left; the drink shouldn't have hit him like that.

"Ugh. Gregor?"

There was a whisper near his ear. "Don't speak. Not a word." Fingers playfully traced the outline of Flynn's lips but the voice was wrong -- all wrong.

He tried to clear his head. Drugged. He must have been drugged. He wasn't at the inn any more. Judging from the sound and motion, he was in a wagon or a carriage of some sort and he was tied very thoroughly; hands bound behind him, ankles bound, knees bound, and a rope around his upper arms and chest. The blindfold was tied properly; there was only the vaguest sensation of light coming through the cloth.

The message had been a trap and whoever had him knew how to deal with Kul Tirans. This was supposed to be a joke on Mathias but it looked like it was a joke on him. 

He strained against the bonds and swore, but was gently pushed back to the floor. There was a quiet whisper - "Please don't hurt yourself. The... master... simply has some questions for you."

"Questions?" Flynn snarled. "Oh, I've got some bloody fine answers for whatever bilge-swilling gormless prat wants 'em and he'll get a right broadside of them!"

Hands patted his back. "Soon, pretty one. Soon."

The soothing motions made him grind his teeth in fury. He decided that when he got loose, the whispering person was going to be the first one to get the knuckles-to-nose treatment.

Horseshoes rang on stone paving as the vehicle jolted to a stop. He could feel magical force wrapping around him as some hired magic user levitated him. He was floated into a building of some sort and maneuvered down some corridors. A door opened and he was pushed into a room. There was a clink of coins, and the door closed, and then he was pushed onto a soft flat surface; a bed.

He could hear someone - perhaps his captor - moving around the room and shoved himself upward. "Don't think I can't hear ya, you crack-handed chavtastic plonker!" he roared in the general direction of the noises.

The sounds came closer. A hand was planted against his forehead and he was pushed back onto the bed. Someone began unbuttoning his shirt and he lunged again, twisting to try and head-butt his tormenter.

"Shh." Mathias’ voice now. Hands unlatched his belt buckle.

" _ **SHIT!**_ You dinger-hanging, sheep-biting, mold-warped botch!" Adrenaline pumped through his body. "I will personally have your balls for this!"

"My, my," Mathias purred. "And you thought the dragon's Evil Overlord list was so amusing." Fingers; a familiar scent; traced his lips this time. A knuckle caressed his cheek. "I was the one who thought it was silly -- but, you know, you look rather fetching like that - all tied up with nowhere to go."

Flynn mentally revised his List of Necessary Executions. "First, I kill the dragon. Then I'm coming for you, mate." He felt the crisp brush of a mustache against his ear; a touch that caused his cock to twitch. Nails scraped lightly downward and circled his navel. He whimpered softly, thrusting upwards with his hips as a tongue explored his ears.

"Let's wait until after we've field tested the other ideas," Mathias whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As everyone who knows me personally can attest, I don't swear. Ever. So I spent quite a few hours trying to figure out what Flynn would say and working out (anthropologically) what might make interesting insults. The Scots and the English were prime sources, as you might guess.


	3. The Socially Responsible Dragon (DRABBLE)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the Evil Overlord List: "Members of my Legion of Terror will attend seminars on Sensitivity Training. It's good public relations for them to be kind and courteous to the general population when not actively engaged in sowing chaos and destruction."

_**"WRATHION!** _

Bath water fountained as Anduin surged upward to a sitting position "This is my _bathroom!_ What are you doing in _here?_ "

The Earth Warder, now in an accommodating medium-sized dragon shape, tapped his claws on the tiled floor. His jet black nostrils flared briefly. "I had an idea, so I came to see you."

"Here? In my bath?" He scowled at the intruder and there was a brief flash of teeth as if he was baring his human-sized fangs.

"It wasn't a problem with the hot tubs in Pandaria."

"This isn't an inn in Pandaria. It's Stormwind Keep. And _this_ particular place is not a public hot tub. It's my private bath."

"I'm willing to accommodate things. What's the protocol for a king's bath, anyway? Am I supposed to be in dragon form for this or human form?" 

Anduin grabbed for a towel and flung it at the dragon's head. "The protocol is that you send a message saying you want a meeting. I send a message saying when and where, then you come and meet me there at that time. Now get OUT!" 

"But I'm already here. And you're not busy with anything and I'm not busy with anything. Seems perfect." His ears twisted forward and he pulled the towel down just far enough that his deep red eyes could be seen. 

"OUT!" 

"You know, you've gotten very touchy since you became king." 

Anduin leaned his elbows on the tub rim, shoving the dragon's nostrils back. "You'd be touchy, too, if someone kept showing up in your bathroom insisting that they needed to discuss..." He paused, trying to remember why the dragon was there in the first place. 

"Mass evangelism" Wrathion supplied helpfully. 

"What?" 

"You know; start a new religion, get lots of followers. Evangelism. As part of your evil overlord plan. Inspire millions of people to follow your every word and then when they're all on the same page, make social changes." He clawed the towel off his head and held it up for Anduin. 

Anduin ignored the offered towel and sank down into the water like a lurking crocodile. "Social changes? What social changes?" 

"I think the biggest need here is some sensitivity training for Sylvanas' former followers." 

_"What?"_

"They need to learn be more humane." The dragon smiled loftily and cocked his head slightly. "Or was it human?" 

"I don't know if you've noticed, but most of the Horde isn't human," he said acidly. "Come to think of it, most of the Alliance isn't human, either." 

"It doesn't matter. All sentient beings need to learn to show kindness and consideration towards each other-- now that everyone's not on a global-scale genocidal rampage, that is." 

"...and _YOU_ are going to preach to the masses about kindness and consideration?" 

"I know that I'd be very good at it, but as the human king you've got a whole audience of a kingdom to start with. And it's really your sort of thing. You keep wanting world peace. So if you start a religion and get everyone to follow it, you can persuade them all to be nice to each other." 

"Really?" 

"I think it's your lovely blue eyes that make you so persuasive." Wrathion batted his deep ruby eyes at his human audience. 

"I'm going to finish my bath now and you're going to leave." 

"I can't believe you'd just give up on such an important idea, because I've heard complaints, particularly about the Forsaken so I think you should start there." 

"With the Forsaken?" 

"Yes. Desperate need there. Mind you, I've also heard complaints from the Forsaken that they're not being treated well. With a program of cultural exchange and sensitivity training plus inspirational messages from you, things will change very quickly." 

Anduin ducked his head briefly under the water. "Ah. Well, you see, that's not my department." He wiped the water out of his face and slicked his hair back. "That's something you need to take to Baine." 

Eyes shifted uneasily. "I did... and..." 

"And?" 

"Well, he wasn't too happy to see me. So I thought if you brought it up to him it might help."

Anduin sat up and leaned forward until he was nose-to-nose with the dragon. "You didn't corner him someplace inappropriate, did you?" 

Crimson eyes slitted and shifted again. "It's so hard to tell with mortals." 

"Like... in his bed?" 

"Oh no. I know better than that. Cornering a mortal in their bed leads to other things. Interesting things -- like --" 

Anduin flicked water onto the dragon's nose. "Just stop right there. I do NOT need to know that." 

"It was very educational. I never thought that..." 

"I'm sure," he said hastily, holding up a hand to stem the flow of talk. "Really don't need to know about it." 

"Not even the stabby bits? Shaw knows about the stabby bits. Do _you_ know about the stabby bits?" Wrathion's air of innocence was completely unconvincing. 

Several terrifying images went through Anduin's mind. He took a deep breath. "Why don't you write a book about it. I'm sure it'll be a great service to mankind... or the world... or scholarship in general." 

"But I might get stabbed in the aftermath. Possibly by Shaw. Though maybe Valeera. Or Renzik. Or someone else." 

"Then I'm sure it those results will make for a very educational footnote or afterword or something," Anduin said smoothly. The idea of Wrathion getting stabbed in the aftermath actually sounded rather appealing at the moment. "Now, get out of my bathroom." 

"You have such a one-track mind," Wrathion snorted, but he did rise and turn and began a very slow saunter toward the door, hips swaying from side to side. 

"...and my bedroom. Get out of my bedroom." Anduin yelled at the retreating shape. "And the parlor! And office!" 

Claws clicked on the stone floors. "How about the privy?" 

_"OUT!_

"How are we going to have any fun taking over the world if you don't take my perfectly sensible suggestions?" 

**_"WRATHION!!_**

He could hear a faint echo from the hallway. _"Mortals. No sense of social responsibility."_


	4. Wyrmbane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't humor, nor is it what I intended to write for today. But that one got sideswiped by this one. It's a quick one-off, not edited... writing exercise.

It was a dark and windy night, just right for a cup of tea and a good book and a cat -- all of which were interrupted by a hesitant knock on the cabin door. "Erm... paladin? A moment of your time if you please?"

Halford Wyrmbane set down cat, tea, and book, and opened the door. A dark man in dark clothing slipped in. He didn't recognize him, though the glowing red eyes gave him away. "Earth Warder, I presume?"

The man -- or, rather, dragon -- nodded.

"Well, do have a seat if you like. I just made tea. The water's hot. would you like some?"

Another nod. The dragon was supposed to be a rather chatty individual, but he was slouched -- not quite slumping -- in a chair and he wasn't saying much. He thought he rather recognized the whole pose because he'd seen it in young people who went off to something with very high hopes and hit a rather embarrassing setback. No one wanted to look stupid to another person, but sometimes they needed a listener who wouldn't go telling others.

Listening was one of the things Halford knew how to do well. He poured the tea and set it in front of Wrathion. "It's been quiet lately, and I'm glad you stopped by, lad. Been a bit lonely, truth to tell, with just me and the cat." He poked at the fire in the stove and then seated himself. "But this is a very distant place, lad, far from your usual haunts. I would guess that it's a wound of the soul and possibly as well as the body that brings you to me, is it not?"

A nod.

He looked over the human form carefully, and a thought struck him. "It might be easier to heal you if you took your natural form -- not your Earth Warder shape, which would break my cabin and upset my shipwrights -- but I think whatever shape you have as a dragon."

Another nod, and a sudden melting and merging of colors and forms. A young dragon about the size of a large dog - not quite a whelpling but certainly not mature - sat on the floor in front of him. He moved his chair over so that his knee was beside the dragon's head. "Do I have your permission to touch your head?"

Another nod.

He called on the Light and let it flood into his hands, then gently put his palm on the dragon's head. There was pain; a bit of internal damage but the big problem was a dark sadness of the soul, and that would take time and Light and a lot of parenting to heal. There were a lot of sharp fractures that he could sense; things covered with a layer of brash words. An eight year old child with the knowledge of a lifetime and the social skills of a pariah. 

He stroked the dark scales, letting the Light guide his fingers and heard a little contented hum. "When you're feeling better, lad, and if you have the time, I would love to hear some of your adventures. Everyone says you're a marvelous storyteller and it's awfully quiet here now that most of the excitement is over."

"Mmmm." It was almost a purr. The eyes were dimming, the lids seemed heavier. 

He stroked the dark scales again, gentle pressure, allowing more warmth to flow from his hands into the tired and battered soul. "Did I ever tell you how I got my cat?"

"No." A sleepy mumble. 

"Ahhh... quite a tale. You see, once upon a time..." 

And the dragon curled up with his nose on the paladin's shoe, and slept.


	5. The Quest Givers (DRABBLE)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the Evil Overlord List:  
> "During times of peace, my Legions of Terror will not be permitted to lie around drinking mead and eating roast boar. Instead they will be required to obey my dietician and my aerobics instructor."

"So. Last appointment for the day. Who's up and what's the issue?" Anduin Wrynn, High King of the Alliance, stretched briefly and then settled back into his usual pose on the Lion Throne. It would be dinner time soon, and tonight was Pandarian cuisine. His stomach growled lightly.

The Chamberlain looked up with a slightly guilty expression. "I'm so sorry, your majesty."

This didn't bode well. Anduin glanced at him and quirked an eyebrow.

"It's... ummm... Wrathion, Khadgar, and Magni. They say it's a matter of great importance and involves all of your Champions and Heroes." 

There was a faint, choked sound that might have been a chuckle. He glanced toward his Spymaster, Mathias Shaw, who was wearing an entirely _too_ innocent expression. Anduin sighed and rubbed his forehead, drumming the fingers of his left hand on the arm of the Lion Throne. "Does SI:7 have a way of helping people disappear, Shaw? Asking for a friend."

"That would depend on which ones you want disappeared... you or them," Shaw said smoothly.

The sound of boot heels rang across the stone chamber as the three strode into view. 

"Too late," Anduin muttered and then managed a pleasant expression as he straightened himself. "Earth Warder. Archmage. Speaker." He privately suspected that there probably wasn't enough alcohol on all of Azeroth to brace him up for what was coming. "What brings you here this evening?"

Magni stepped forward. "Anduin, we are concerned. Your champions are getting pudgy."

"Pudgy?"

"Aye! Now that th' danger is mostly past an' Azeroth is beginnin' ta heal nicely, Heroes an' Champions don't hae much ta do. So they're sittin' around th' camp, swillin ale an' eatin' everything in sight. Mind ye, that's got rid of some death worms what didn't get sliced an' diced by elementals an' th' sword, but still... pudgy."

"Their families will be glad to have them back." Anduin wasn't sure where the dwarf was going with all this. "Even if they've gained some weight."

Khadgar stepped forward. "Normally this is not a problem, but we've seen that when emergencies rise and when we needed to call all of these resources together suddenly that many aren't prepared to use new talents and weaponry."

Anduin was beginning to see the shape of what was coming, and it looked a lot like it was mainly composed by a certain black dragon with a list of ideas that should have been burned before the infernal reptile read it. "I understand, but we can't stop development and research on weapons and techniques. It does cause problems for many of our Champions and Heroes, but I believe that they're capable of handling the changes."

"Now, see, that's th' brilliant part o' all this," Magni said. "We gie 'em quests ta' do that gie's them all some lil' enchanted enhancements. They clear out some o' th' problem areas an' come back wi' things ta sell an bring us ...oh... say a thousan' o' somethin'. They get exercise an' a bespelled reward, an yer mercenaries an' temporaries get kept in tip top shape!"

"Couldn't we just give these enchantments to the army of Stormwind? Hand them over to Wyrmbane to distribute appropriately?" He knew it was a lost cause, but it was still worth trying.

All three of them looked at the king as if he'd suddenly sprouted a lot of tentacles in inappropriate places. 

"That would take a considerable number of resources that we simply don't have," Khadgar explained. "And sending out the army so that every individual could have the exact number of resources for this is really a waste of your forces, your majesty. There's a smaller number of Champions and Heroes; therefore it's more reasonable to send those."

The dragon was suspiciously silent.

"An' we do need th' Titan areas cleared an' explored," Magni added. "I can craft Titan artisanal items that enhance certain qualities."

Anduin tapped his fingers against the marble throne arm. "And you?" He stared pointedly at Wrathion, who bowed with an elaborate flourish.

"My quests will restart economies worldwide, your majesty."

"Do tell..."

Wrathion examined his long fingernails, smirking faintly. "I provide a device that will extract magical energies from powerful but useless gear. When they have collected enough of these energies, I can gift them with a very high quality and very powerfully enhanced cloak that they can have bespelled to boost their very best talents."

"...and?" Early in their friendship, Anduin had learned that there was always an 'and' on most of Wrathion's requests.

"Well, I'm rather afraid that with the ingredients it won't match most of the armor that the Champions wear. In fact, it doesn't match any of it. So they will probably have to go talk to the ethereals to change the fabric's appearance, and that will bring gold to them, which will appease their faction and increase trade flow. Brilliant, eh?"

"And if you approve, the Horde Council will also approve," Khadgar added. "We presented this to them and they basically said they'd agree if the Alliance also participated."

Anduin leaned back, tapping his fingers on the throne as the others looked hopefully at him. "The Horde said that?"

There were nods.

He continued tapping his fingers on the throne, contemplating the suggestions. "Well," he said finally, "I don't see a problem with the suggestion -- HOWEVER..."

Expressions went from hopeful to suspicious in a heartbeat.

"I need to see proof of concept, here. The mark of a true leader is that they do not ask their people to undertake any task that they themselves are not willing to take on."

Expressions went from suspicious to Marginally Terrified.

"And, while it would be fairly easy for each of you to gather your own resource, we need to see how easy it is for others. So... each of you should bring me a thousand artifacts, a thousand crystals, and a thousand residues. I'd like to measure how long it takes so that I know how to prepare the Champions." He nodded to his secretary. "Make a note of the starting time, please. We'll get good metrics on this expedition. And now, gentlemen, it's time for my dinner." 

The three turned, expressions slightly puzzled. As they left, Magni's voice could be heard sayin, "How... did he manage to do that?"

Wrathion's voice added, "Is it cheating to see if we can buy some of this stuff from gold farmers?"

There was a gasping wheeze to Anduin's left. He glanced over. Spymaster Shaw was collapsed against the wall in silent and rather undignified laughter. "I... can't believe... you just did that."

"It seemed the reasonable thing to do," Anduin replied. Smiling very gently, the Evil Overlord of Azeroth left the room.


	6. DRABBLE:  A Simple Re-Quest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _If I learn the whereabouts of the one artifact which can destroy me, I will not send all my troops out to seize it. Instead I will send them out to seize something else and quietly put a Want-Ad in the local paper._
> 
> Remember yesterday, when Magni and Khadgar and Wrathion went off on a quest?
> 
> They're baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack.

Anduin Wrynn, High King of the Alliance, sat on the Lion Throne and contemplated the three bedraggled figures in front of him. "Speaker. Archmage. Earth Warder. It's good to see you again. You're all looking rather fit, if somewhat... leafy. I'm told you have successfully concluded the quest for materials?"

"Aye. We have," Magni said as he brushed something off the bright diamond surfaces of his gauntlet. 

Anduin leaned back. "If I'm not mistaken, though, none you seems to have lost weight."

"Well, we didn't want to get sick," Khadgar said quickly, dislodging a vine from his belt buckle.

"However, if you remember, weight loss was one of the goals of the expedition. How about the other goal? Have you learned any new skills?"

Magni hissed, "A certain uppity lizard has learned how ta ninja my kills!"

Wrathion wheeled and glowered down at the dwarf. "You keep forgetting that the warrior-twirl thing you do doesn't make a big area of destruction, unlike my fire spells. And speaking of skills, who had to go consult six different oracles to find out the answer to that riddle instead of figuring it out on your own like we did -- Khadgar?"

"There's no point in using brute force when someone knows the answer. It takes skill to figure that out. And as long as you're pointing fingers, what about the artifact _you_ lost?" Khadgar growled and jabbed a finger at Wrathion.

Anduin leaned forward and steepled his fingers. "Artifact?"

"Aye," Magni said grimly. "A genuine titan artifact. I was lookin' it over an some doo-lally prat comes up to us and asks about it an' boyo there just scoops it up an' hands it over ta him. An' that was th' last we saw of him or th' artifact because this gawpin' big devilsaur comes up out o' th' mist an starts tryin' ta' eat the tosser an' he runs off an' all we finds of him ever is bits of armor." 

"Did you ever find out what it did? Where it came from?"

Magni shrugged and growled. "Dunno. Had just started to give it a look-see. Now it's lost somewhere in Un'goro crater. Possibly digestin' inside that devilsaur along with that paladin."

Anduin nodded and then examined the tally sheets. "So... the three of you spent three weeks collecting these items, right?"

"It would have been faster if _some_ one hadn't mis-tuned the Disenchantment Machine." Wrathion's eyes narrowed and he gave Khadgar a hard stare.

"Let's not argue, friends," Anduin said mildly. "So... let's get an estimate." 

He reached over and took the notepaper and pen from his startled secretary. He flipped to a new page and started writing down formulas in his usual precise script. "Okay.... so your gear is about ten times stronger than my Champions' gear, and your power is also about ten times that of my Champions, I'd estimate. So if it took you three weeks to collect all those items it should take the best of my Grand Champions... thirty weeks, correct? And at Hero level, a... year?"

There was a shuffling of feet as the trio looked around, possibly to find a likely victim to blame. "Perhaps," Khadgar finally admitted.

Anduin nodded and continued writing. "Now, we know that when a group starts on a long project, 80 percent will give up in frustration and 20 percent will actually finish." 

"We know that?" Khadgar looked skeptical.

"Yep." Anduin wrote down a few more figures, did some sums, and then glanced up at the trio. "So in one year's time we should have approximately eight hundred thousand Grand Champions who are fully equipped with your new enhancements -- and three million, two hundred thousand Champions who are tired of these tasks and want to complete the exercise by removing your heads instead. Is that correct?"

There were more uneasy looks. "Erm... well..." Wrathion began.

Anduin held up his hand. "No, gentlemen. It's far too risky. I can't have hundreds of thousands of heroes constantly gunning for you. It only took a few dozen to bring down N'zoth. I simply can't afford to lose my advisors to disgruntled people who are supposed to be working with us. We'll shelve plans for this one. But do continue to give this some thought and when you come up with another idea, see my secretary about an appointment."

He handed the notebook back to his secretary. "Thank you. I hate to cut this short but I have other meetings this afternoon."

The trio exchanged bewildered looks and then bowed and walked out. There was a moment of silence in the throne room and in the distance Magni's voice could be heard saying, "Did... he just do that to us again?"

Anduin lifted a hand. "Shaw?"

"Your majesty?"

"Have Renzik send an announcement to the goblins in Un'Goro that one of your aliases is paying five thousand gold for a titan artifact last seen in the area of the devilsaurs. I'll give you a draft for seven thousand gold so that payment can be arranged when it's found."

"Your majesty?" Questions hung in the air.

"I would like to have that titan device." Anduin leaned back. "However, it's a waste to send dozens of expensively trained and geared champions on a risky quest for something that may or may not be there," he said in his most reasonable voice. 

"That... seems sensible," Shaw said very carefully.

"So let's offer a big reward for it. Every goblin in the area will try to either bring it to us or will try to develop technology that could be reasonably mistaken for a titan artifact. When the genuine article turns up, we buy it outright, but we take a hard look at the fakes. If we like the technology and it's sound, your agent has a budget of up to 2,000 gold to offer for the device and plans."

"I don't see how that adds up, your majesty."

The king's smile was seraphic. "You see, this way we get treasure location along with some inspired research and development in one fell swoop. And it comes at absolutely no risk to the Alliance. If there's nothing to be found, all it's cost us is your agent's salary."

There was a long silence. "I.... see. I'll have Renzik draw up the announcement for your approval tomorrow."

"Thank you."

"Your majesty?"

"Yes, Shaw?"

"SI:7 is officially changing your codename to 'Evil Overlord'."


	7. Re-Moat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: not a particularly funny piece, but it IS a setup for a later drabble.
> 
> Prompt: _The moat around my fortress will be teeming with sharks with lasers on their heads (every creature deserves a warm meal). And no, I will not settle for sea bass, no matter how bad-tempered they are._

"Well, that was annoying." High King Anduin Wrynn lowered his sword, Shalamayne, and walked back to the Lion Throne. "Everyone okay? Or, rather, is everyone except the Horde okay?"

Spymaster Mathias Shaw prodded an inert tauren with his toe. "I believe we've seen the last of them today, your majesty. They're portaling the neutralized freebooters out now."

Anduin sighed as his Chamberlain and his page approached with cleaning cloths and a jug of iced water. He selected a small cloth and began carefully wiping Shalamayne's blades. "It's becoming a bit of a nuisance lately, these coup-counting raids. They were frequent when I was a child, but dropped off in the past decade. Now that N'Zoth is no longer a direct problem, apparently some of the Horde Champions are determined to revive these raids. It's very disruptive."

"The last of the lumps portaled out of the garden just now," Renzik announced as he walked in through the eastern door.

"We've cleared the keep, your majesty," HIghguard Kalius announced from the map room. "We've just had reports that the guards chased off the last conscious ones in the Old City and the neutralized ones are gone from the Mage Quarter. We'll sound the 'all clear' after we finish checking the Dwarven District and the farms."

Anduin nodded and sighed as he sheathed his sword again. "It's not so much the raids as it is the timing. I don't think I'd mind it quite so much if they pulled their stunt during, say, a budget meeting or a long discussion about which rules apply to a point of law and order. But, it always happens during Citizen Petitioning, which means we have to reschedule everything again and sort out who was in what order -- again."

The Royal Steward nodded glumly. "And half the time, someone eats my notes. Or impales them on something. We'll have to reschedule today's petitions for... next week, I believe"

Renzik frowned briefly. "I may have a solution, your majesty."

Anduin leaned forward. "Yes?"

"Lately at SI:7 we've been trying to get hold of some documents that are making the rounds...." There was a sudden strangled noise from Shaw that Renzik ignored. "It had some good suggestions that I think you could use in this situation."

"Go on." Anduin took a sip of water and regarded the goblin thoughtfully.

"What your majesty could use is a great big drop trap right in the middle of the floor in front of your throne. When the Horde comes storming in, just press a button on the throne and the trap door opens and drops every one of them down into a great big tank. With sharks! Sharks with lasers! Problem solved and there's minimum disruption of the day. Once you put in a filter to sort out our petitioners from their combatants."

Laughter echoed around the room and died as all eyes turned to Anduin -- who wasn't laughing. He sat, drumming the fingers of his left hand on the arm rest of the Lion Throne for a minute. "Sharks with lasers?"

"There was someone developing them out in Uldum once. Big things. Really amazing. Can be modified for all sorts of combat."

"Do tell." The king glanced over at his secretary. "Schedule a meeting with the castle architects a week from today, and ask the construction engineer for the shipyard to be present. I'm going to take a thirty minute break - Highguard, see if you can locate remaining petitioners and help organize them. We'll finish that business today."

He glanced down at the goblin. "Renzik, you're with me."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***Cat and Coffee warning***
> 
> TODAY'S PROMPT: PROMPT: _I will design all doomsday machines myself. If I must hire a mad scientist to assist me, I will make sure that he is sufficiently twisted to never regret his evil ways and seek to undo the damage he's caused._

"Have you given any thought to...."

 _ **"WRATHION!"**_

Bath water fountained as Anduin splashed upright to a sitting position. "Again? Confound it, this is my private bathing chamber! I've told you that this is _**not**_ an appropriate social situation! How did you get past the guards?" A small yellow rubber duck bobbled in the wake of the impromptu tsunami. 

"I'm a shapeshifter, remember? Anyway, I need to talk to you right now." The dragon's ears flicked forward, his nostrils flared briefly. He glanced at the yellow duck, frowned, and then glanced back at Anduin.

Blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "About...?"

"Frankly, I'm concerned that once your beautiful daughter conspiring against you." Eyes shifted back to the duck. "Is that thing listening to us?"

"Wrathion, is this another of those items from that... that... list?"

Eyes shifted. "Mayyyyyyyyybe."

"If you remember, I don't have any children and I'm not even engaged to anyone and this is the kind of conversation that could wait until next year."

"It really can't, because--"

Anduin's right foot lashed out and kicked hard against a shiny metal button underneath the tub's faucet. The floor under the dragon abruptly dissolved, sending him plummeting downward before he remembered that he had wings and could actually fly. 

There was a distant and satisfying "thud" as lights in the pit below came on. Tinny music began playing and a recorded voice started up. _"Welcome, traveler, to the new Mark-34 Dunge-O-Matic" it said in cheerfully soothing tones. "Please check your belongings to see that you have arrived with all the items you entered the dungeon with. And for your safety, please keep your hands and your elbows from contact with the sharks. Although we feed our animals well, they are not particularly well-mannered. As you prepare to exit this dungeon, we have a short customer satisfaction survey for you."_

He kicked the button underneath the faucet again, and the floor gradually began reforming as the automated voice continued, " _...Although participation in this survey is not mandatory, your opinions will help to better our services and facility for the future. While you may choose to flounder your way out on your own, the survey will only take about ten minutes, and we will reward your participation with the map that shows the current route out of the pit. Be aware that this free route offer is only good for...._

There was a soft clicking sound as the floor finished cycling shut.

"You know, Renzik was right. That was oddly satisfying," Anduin said to his yellow rubber duck. He hummed a few bars of a favorite tune and sank back into the bath water with a contented sigh.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anduin isn't the only one in contention for "Evil Overlord" titles.
> 
> PROMPT: _I will not turn into a snake. It never helps._

_**"BRANN BRONZEBEARD!"** _

The eerie howl pierced the noise of the Heart's Chamber. Wrathion could see both Brann and Magni suddenly flinch and look around as if they were trying to find the largest possible Champion to hide behind. He glanced toward the source of the sound and could see Alliance and Horde Champions stumbling aside as some force started making its way through the crowd.

**_"BRANN BRONZEBEARD!!"_**

A Tauren bull went flying to one side as sturdy, fiery-haired dwarf woman pushed her way into the central area, pointing at the dwarf who was trying to hide behind the MOTHER construct. "I am going to tear you another one, Brann Bronzebeard!"

"Moira?" A very nervous Magni Bronzebeard stepped forward to intercept her. "Daughter, what's wrong?"

She stabbed her finger towards Brann, who was trying very hard to pretend that he was Some Other Dwarf. "HE's what's wrong! Do you know what that idiot brother of yours gave my son for a birthday present?"

"Noooo. Do tell." 

"He gave MY innocent child an TOY ROTATOR-- just HANDS it to my young and innocent child!"

Magni shrugged. "Well, I'm sure the lad enjoys a wide selection of toys."

It was, of course, the wrong sort of response, but Wrathion suspected at this point any action was going to be the wrong reaction. Moira stalked up to her father, bristling. "Not THAT kind of toy. It rotates the OTHER kind of toy."

An interesting statement and Wrathion wondered which of the several possible subtexts was the correct one. He sidled his way closer towards Kalecgos. The volume of the discussion suggested that one might risk life and limb by standing close. "Twenty thousand gold on the female," he whispered to the Steward of Magic.

"No takers," Kalec muttered as the rest of the dragons in the Chamber of the Heart joined them.

Magni had taken refuge in the traditional blame-it-on-your-sibling outrage mode. "BRANN BRONZEBEARD, WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY GIVING MY GRANDSON THAT KIND OF THING?"

Merithra eyed Wrathion and Kalecgos. "Are the two of you betting on mortal behavior?"

"Not yet. Anyway, this is likely to go on for some time," Wrathion muttered. "If we're all bored enough for a game, I have heard of something called a 'drinking game' that might be more interesting than betting mere gold."

"Oh?" Alexstrasza's tone was noncommittal, but the heat-flare in her eyes suggested that she had some interest in doing something more than standing around in drafty clothes and occasionally twitching provocatively.

He pointed to a cask of Jin Warmkeg's brew that had mysteriously appeared when Moira began shaking something in the direction of Brann's nose. "Everyone selects an action -- I am taking 'Moira pokes someone in the chest'. When that action occurs, you announce it and everyone BUT you takes a drink." He reached into the area of the toy's effect and pulled out five mugs and handed them around.

"I'll take 'Brann says 'but'," Merithra said quickly.

Wrathion shook his head. "No, don't do that. We'll all be under the table in five minutes. He just said 'but' three times in a row." 

Alexstrasza smiled. "I'll take 'reference to archaeology'." 

Kalecgos rubbed his chin. "I'll take 'someone mentions a toy.'"

"Then I'll have to take 'one brother blames the other'," Merithra said.

"What about you, Ebonhorn?"

"All of you are Aspects. I am but a simple dragon. I am going to be the judge, and I will hand out the brew." He smiled and took a sip of his own drink. He glanced over at the dwarves. "So we have first, a Moira poking Brann... and that's everyone but Wrathion. After that, we have brother-blaming so that's everyone but Merithra. Drink up."

"Oh goodness. Moira is waving that thing around and there's now five... six toys around Brann?" Kalecgos glanced over at the others. "And she's yelling something about an instruction manual."

"That went downhill quickly," Alexstrasza murmurred as she cupped her mug with her hands and drank quickly. "Thish... might catch up with ush... shoon." She hicccupped delicately as she finished her fourth mug and looked at the others. Everyone but Kalecgos was starting to look a little wobbly.

"There she goes again with the finger-poke," Ebonhorn said, still nursing his first drink. "Oh, and there's the blaming again. So... Everyone but Wrathion and then everyone but Merithra."

"She'sh yelling shomething about an instrusshion manual again," Kalecgos hiccupped somberly. "Shomeone elshesss turn."

"Maybe we should have picked shomething lesh... alcoholic." Alexstrasza peered owlishly at Wrathion. "Or shomeone lesh vol...vol... grumpy. Can we get them to talk abouth... arch... arch... achoholocohol?"

"No, I don't think you can prompt them," Ebonhorn said as he tapped her on the elbow and set four more drinks at her feet.

"It'sh bett(hic) better than lishshtening to Champions nag Wrathy 'bout their cloakshshs," Merithra muttered.

"There's another poke," Ebonhorn handed out another round. "No, make that two. Drink quickly."

Merithra made a rude noise and shapeshifted into her full-sized dragon form as Champions of both factions hastily moved out of her way. She arched her neck down and gobbled up the six mugs around her feet. "There."

Wrathion stalked up to her and glowered at her snout, now twenty feet above his head. "Thatsh che-(hic)-cheating," he growled.

"Ohnly becaush you didn't think of it firsht."

Ebonhorn tapped him. "You're eight drinks behind now, brother. And Merthra, here's two for you. Kalecgos, you and Alextrasza are falling way behind. There goes another poke. Oh, and THAT was an archaeology joke."

"Falling behind, am I?: Wrathion shifted into dragon form and glowered at the Green Aspect. "Two can play this game" he muttered and guzzled his portion of the beer, leaning somewhat precariously over a startled Champion who had been waving his cloak at the dragon like a matador trying to get the attention of a very nearsighted bull.

"Whup --two rounds of brother-blaming. And there's another toy. Oh, look! She just shot Brann with a turkey shooter. He's all over feathers now and can't do anything because he doesn't have thumbs," Ebonhorn grinned as he passed around still more mugs. "Drink up."

Alexstrasza shifted into dragon form and began a slow slide to the floor, draping her chin on top of MOTHER as Champions attempted hasty departures. "Are... you shure... you're not jushht randomly h-handing out boozsh to ush?" Her jewels clanked and jangled against the construct. 

Brann gobbled frantically and flapped his way up Alextrasza's paw as the turkey shooter went off again, narrowly missing Magni. "I think that counts as brother-blaming," Ebonhorn said to Kalecgos, passing him three more mugs. "Drink up. I think you can win this one."

"I th-hic-ought that wash a toy? Washn't I th' one wish toysh?" Kalecgos looked at him blearily.

"You'd best shift to dragon form like the others. This is pretty strong stuff," Ebonhorn said solicitously. There was a shimmer of blue and the Blue Aspect dragon suddenly slid through the now-thinning crowd of Champions and the chamber was now more than half full of sleeping dragons. Ebonhorn turned to a nearby Champion who was staring in dismay at Wrathion and said, "on your way out would you please post this sign saying that the Chamber is closed for cleaning and will be open tomorrow morning?"

The goblin nodded, froze, and then started running. Ebonhorn looked up. Merithra had shapeshifted into her dragon form and was now toppling in slow motion toward them. Ebonhorn picked up the keg and moved aside as she finished her slow descent. Wrathion, the last dragon standing, took one look at the others, snorted, and fell over on top of Magni Bronzebeard.

Moira stopped in mid-rant, all her targets either out of range or buried underneath a lot of snoring dragons. She stared at Ebonhorn. "What just happened?" 

"Sampling leftover Brewfest keg," he said and politely handed her a mug. 

She sniffed it. "Aye. Barleybrew. That'll probably do it. Drinkin' contest, was it?"

Ebonhorn shrugged. "Sibling rivalry."

She lifted her mug in a toast. "Och. Families, eh?"

He clinked his mug against hers. "Indeed."


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: _I will maintain plausible deniability at all times._
> 
> What happens when you try to turn in your quests to a roomful of very drunk dragons.

"What happened to the Chamber of the Heart?" The worgen hunter, last of the group to stumble through the portal, looked around at the small space between the wall and a wall made up of the shoulders, arms, and head of Alexstrasza, the Lifebinder. She dismissed her current pet so that her guildmates could have a little more space in the area of the Chamber that was not currently being taken up by dragons.

The kaldorei holy priest wearily shoved at a lump of red dragon that, predictably, didn't budge. "Dunno. Alexstrasza's alive. She's just not moving." He hammered on the scales but there was no response. "I'd hit her with a Holy Fire spell to wake her up, but she's a friendly target and I can't do that. I can't even mind control her to get her to move."

The party's druid shifted into tank form and swatted, without any effect.

The priest leaned against the wall with a weary sigh. "Ugh. Guys, it's almost 4 am here and I'm bone tired. All I want to do is turn in these last pages to Wrathion, get my cloak upgraded to max level, and then stumble off to bed."

The hunter nodded. "Yeah. We adore ya, Feli, but six runs in two hours through Visions of Orgrimmar is a bunch." 

"At least this'll get my cloak to level 15 -- if I can hand the pages in. It's a pity we don't have a mage here. We could sheep Alexstrasza and get her out of the way," Feli grumbled. "Hearthing out and then portaling back in might be our only chance."

The mechagnome shaman dug through her bags. "I think I've got some BabySpice here. Not sure if it'll work on a Dragon Aspect but it's worth a try. if that doesn't work, I can try hexing her into a frog." She tossed some sparkly dust onto the dragon and then tried a spell. "Nope. Not working. Too much dragon to hex and not enough spice or something." She tried another bag. "Maybe one of the toys...?"

"Hold up, Ruby. I think I hear something." The bear-form druid stood on his hind lets, ears turned toward the main part of the Chamber. "Hello?" he shouted. "Anybody in the dragon-moving business around?"

There was a faint reply. "Hello. Did someone come through the portal?"

"Yes. Five of us. Guildmates. Did the current Vision. We're trapped behind Alexstrasza. We need to get to Wrathion."

"Uhoh. Hold on." There were some odd sounds from the main chamber including a metallic groan and then Alexstrasza's forearm was moved a few feet to one side. A medium-sized black dragon stood in the gap. "There you go. I'm afraid the Aspects are somewhat... discombobulated... right now." He backed up and led them into the main area of the Chamber, which was mostly filled with some very large sleeping dragons. One of them snored, a sound like a volcano with a bad digestive system.

The bear sniffed the air. "I'm pretty sure you meant 'drunk', Ebyssian."

"It seemed more diplomatic to say 'discombobulated.'"

The priest clutched his temples. "Oh Elune. Don't tell me that one of those snoring hulks over there is Wrathion?" he moaned. "I've been months trying to get this cloak quest thing done and now that I've got the last of the pages, he's passed out drunk?"

Ebyssian shifted back into his more familiar Highmountain Tauren form. "I'm afraid so. And Alexstrasza fell asleep on top of MOTHER and that's Kalecgos right in front of her, so you'll have to wait till later for upgrade items."

"Don't care about upgrades," Feli groaned. "I just want to get this cloak to level fifteen before the quest vanishes in the next pre-patch."

"All is not lost," the mechagnome shaman said suddenly. "Wrathion's draped over Kalecgos and Merithra. There's his tail. I can dispel poisons and we've got three healers right now... five if Ebyssian helps and Brondel changes from tank to heals. We can probably get rid of enough alcohol to wake him up."

"It's worth a try," The bear shifted into his Kaldorei form. "Let's go see if we can wake the dragon up."

Dispelling poisons on Champions and Heroes is a fairly simple and not very time-consuming task. Dispelling something the size of a Dragon Aspect is another matter entirely, even with Ebyssian's help, it was a full thirty minutes before Wrathion opened one eye and muttered "Huh?"

"He's all yours," Ebyssian announced and stepped away hastily as the priest marched up and rapped his knuckles on Wrathion's nose."

"You," Feli said in a voice usually reserved for scolding large and disobedient dogs. "I've got two pages for you right here and I want my cloak upgrade token now." He glared into Wrathion's one available eye and after a moment the Earth Warder shrank back into his humanoid shape and stood at the edge of the chamber, wobbling slightly.

Magni stumbled upright and glared at the black dragon. "Ah do not appreciate bein' a dragon napping spot, laddie buck."

"let's not change the topic," Feli said firmly. "Someone owes me a cloak upgrade token."

Wrathion draped his arm over the priest's shoulders. "Tokensh. Shh..err... pagesh?"

"Here." Feli stuffed a pair of slightly singed manuscripts into the dragon's hands. "It is oh-ghod-thirty in the morning, and I'm VERY annoyed and tired and I want my token to upgrade my cloak -- NOW, PLEASE."

"Right. Tokensh. (hic)" Wrathion dug into the pockets of his coat and handed several objects to the priest. "There. Take 'em."

"I just needed one, actually."

He dropped more tokens into the priest's hands. "Take 'em all. Give 'em to yer (hic) friendssh. An hav-a-cape. Don't care anymore." 

Another cluster of adventurers appeared, battered and worn, bearing trophies. Wrathion tossed some tokens at them without waiting for requests or explanations. He rubbed his temples. "Don't bother. Got headache. Have a thingy for ... your ghild shister." 

The Tauren paladin stood, mouth agape. "Thank you."

Wrathion grinned as he pulled several cloak tokens out of another pocket and shoved them into the startled paladin's hands. "Jusht taking up (hic) sphace. Would ... trade for wat'r 'cause I think I'm going to have a heck... heck... headache."

"A well deserved one," Magni growled. "An' probably stomach ache from lyin' atop me pointy bits. It'll serve ya right."

"Don' wanna (hic) know."

"I turned in my pages yesterday," a mechagnome said brightly. She was rewarded with more tokens. She tried not to giggle as she put down a portable mailbox.

"My sister just finished her cloak quest but she had to leave," a druid added.

"Here." With a shrug, Wrathion began flinging tokens around the room and watched as Azeroth's Finest turned into an impromptu football scrum. Yells rose, gnomes were punted, lightning crackled from a shaman's hands.

Ebyssian sighed as Wrathion began to droop again. "Change to your dragon form and then sleep, dear brother."

"Mush(hic)sht I?"

"You must. No one disturbs sleeping dragons."

Wrathion gave a half-hearted nod and suddenly shifted to his full height.

"TIMBERRRRRRR!" Ebyssian shouted. Champions of all factions darted out of the way as the gigantic form of the great Earth Warder slowly slumped forward and toppled over on the remaining tokens. There were a few token moans of protest but Ebyssian simply pointed to the exit and one by one the non-dragons began hearthing out of the chamber.

Magni shook his head. "Dinna think I don't know what ye did, lad. An' when MOTHER gets free o' Alexstrasza, she's goin' ta have some words with ye."

Ebyssian smiled and sat on his brother's tail. "And it was well worth it, Speaker. Every bit of it."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt _Despite its proven stress-relieving effect, I will not indulge in maniacal laughter. When so occupied, it's too easy to miss unexpected developments that a more attentive individual could adjust to accordingly._

Khadgar hid a sigh of frustration as the elaborately dressed Kaldorei druid entered the meeting room followed by a bouncy female frost nymph and wondered if there was some sort of time-compression spell that he could cast. The deer-like centauroids were a bit... unfocused and druids were notoriously long-winded. The Archdruid Lathorius was famous for his unstoppable, hours-long monologues on the animals of Northrend. If he kept the Kaldorei standing, perhaps he would simply say his piece and then leave.

Lathorius bowed very solemnly to Khadgar. "Archmage, thank you for seeing me. I come on a mission of great import."

That phrasing suggested that Lathorius had been shopping his idea around and had gotten rejections from other quarters. Khadgar nodded and stood with braced legs, one hand firmly on his staff of office. "Archdruid Lathorius. What can I do for you?"

"I come on behalf of DEHTA to formally request that the Kirin Tor break and remake one of their spells."

"Spell breaking? That's not easily done." It was certainly possible, and they had done it before, boosting the damage ability of the Resonance spell for mages took almost a year's work and effort by the Kirin Tor. "The Kirin Tor are always open to suggestions that will help all mages. Which spell is this that concerns you?"

"The sheeping spell. It is a crime against sheep, and it needs to stop."

"Erm... why?" 

Zaza, the Frost nymph, bounced on her silvery-blue hooves. "That terrible spell reinforces the horrors that the world commits against these gentle and wonderful animals. And the damage is done by mages wearing hoods to hide their identities like so many executioners so that no one knows which mage is doing the sheeping."

It took Khadgar some seconds to fully parse out that sentence. "Well, it's a combat spell, actually so the sheep are not actually animals."

The Archdruid drew himself up and looked indignant. "Archmage, everyone knows that. We're concerned about its other uses. Have you not seen the papers? Some mages have been known to sheep walk!"

Khadgar's unfortunate tabloid habit meant that he had seen a recent round of "underground" articles on mages and their unusual habits -- papers that he read and re-read, he told himself, to understand how others viewed mages and archmages. The photos of mages with slightly blurred out parts were, of course, something that wasn't really a factor here. 

He debated with himself about how much he should say about his knowledge of sheepwalking and then decided that silence was the better part of wisdom. "Do tell?" he said politely.

"Yes. Although it might be instructional for hunters and other offenders of wildlife to be forced to live permanently as an animal -- as with some of the original spells and curses -- nowadays the temporariness of it leaves it open to abuse." The feathers on the Archdruid's pauldrons quivered as he shook his finger furiously.

Khadgar said soothingly, "We have recently made changes to the spell, based on some recommendations from the Earthen Ring and their hex-to-frogs spell."

"Froggies? You're going to change people to froggies?" Zaza looked aghast and then puzzled. "On the one hand, changing them to froggies doesn't seem ethical. On the other hand, little froggies are peaceful and don't harm anything." She blinked at them. "I think I'm conflicted, here."

"Not frogs. Sheep," Khadgar sighed, wondering if it would be considered a breach of sanity if he ran from the room screaming at the top of his lungs. "In any case, I don't really see a problem."

"How could you not see what's in front of you?"

Diplomacy was promptly abandoned.

"Because so far this discussion has been unfocused and un-themed and without any real point?" 

"How dare you...?"

There was a sudden crackling of arcane energy in the parlor and two confused sheep started wandering around the parlor. Khadgar glanced back over his shoulder and saw a tall and willowy white-haired woman in Kirin Tor attire leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe. "That's much better," Archmage Modera said as she eyed the results of her handwork.

"Modera! You don't just go around... sheeping people all over the place!" He couldn't decide between glee and outrage and settled on a tone that he hoped sounded mildly upset.

Modera smiled lazily. "It's an experimental tweak to the ancient Once-A-Sheep-Always-A-Sheep spell. This won't last forever -- it should wear off in two days unless someone hits them really really hard."

He crossed his arms and glared down at her. "You sheeped the Archmage and his companion!"

She patted his cheek. "For the good of the order, Archmage. For the good of the order."

"Which... order?"

"Come up to my room after dinner and we'll discuss it." She winked and walked out, hips swaying suggestively.


	12. Sheep Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! NOT A HUMOR PIECE. Nathanos Blightcaller is nasty and mean. Anduin plays head games. Discussion of ethics. Not an angsty ending, however. Nobody dies.
> 
> Character list: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw, Anduin Wrynn, Nathanos Blightcaller, Zaza the Frost Nymph. 
> 
> PROMPT: _I will not waste time making my enemy's death look like an accident -- I'm not accountable to anyone and my other enemies wouldn't believe it._

The third level of the Stormwind Cathedral catacombs was crowded with spellcasters and guards. Highguard Kalius pushed his way through them, saying "Make way for the king." He waved to the Lion's Guard behind him. "Clear this lot out. Let's make some room. Lord Shadowbreaker can stay."

There were some grumbles of protest but the onlookers turned and climbed back up the stairs without too much prompting from the guards. Anduin nodded to the paladin. "Let's see him."

Lord Grayson Shadowbreaker started down the steps to the lower level. "In there. Katherine the Pure is watching over him. He's said nothing more than he wants to speak to you."

"Let's see what he has to say, then." Anduin took the last step and glanced around the dimly lit chamber where a paladin stood guard over what appeared to be a twitching heap of mossy, muddy rags. She prodded the shape with a metal toe and something inside shifted and flinched. 

A pale face emerged from the cloth and turned toward Anduin. "Sanctuary," Nathanos Blightcaller whispered, "I have come to ask the High King of the Alliance for sanctuary." He flinched again, as if struck by invisible blows.

Anduin folded his arms and stared down at the Forsaken. "Nathanos Blightcaller, I believe you're supposed to be permanently dead. Intelligence said that you were at your farm. Champions have bounced in, bringing me proof of your termination in the form of your head at least fifty times in the past half hour. I have quite a collection of these souvenirs and the pile seems to be getting larger all the time. I'm assuming this is all due to something that the Bronze Dragonflight calls a 'pre-patch.'"

Blightcaller shuddered. "Yes. When I got up this morning, some Unseen Power tucked a series of very high quality weapons in various places on my clothing and body, scooped me up, and sat me down at the farm with my dogs. An hour ago I heard a voice saying 'payback time' and suddenly they were all there. Millions of them. Horde and Alliance. And I've been dying and coming back to life again and again and again -- and it's only been ONE HOUR. I have a raging headache and I just want a little peace and quiet."

"Why come to me, Blightcaller?"

"Because you're a sniveling, pure-hearted do-gooder who won't kill me when I ask for sanctuary, even with the rest of the universe howling for my head." The bold declaration was interrupted several times by jerks and flinches as his body reacted to being killed on more than a thousand other realms.

There were whispers of steel around the room, but Anduin held his hand up. "Stop. None of that. He's right that I won't kill him.. Not at this time."

"But your Majesty --" Highguard Kailus protested.

"Stay here and don't let anyone else in until I get back. I need to set some arrangements in place. Shaw, you're with me." Anduin turned on his heel, leaving the flinching form behind him.

Kalius drew his sword. Blightcaller sneered. "Do you really think I'd go running around and ripping people's heads off after asking for sanctuary just so you could kill me again and again here in this cathedral? I've already died half a million times. It's gotten very old." He jerked and shuddered again, his red eyes flaring and then dimming. "I prefer to die one less time. That's why I'm taking chances with that fool."

Anduin led the way upstairs. As soon as they were outside, Mathias turned to the king and said, fuming, "Wrynn, he needs to be executed. Now, if not sooner."

Anduin shook his head. "No, it sends all the wrong messages."

"Messages?" Mathias' tone was sharp. "He's a mass murderer and..."

"And his sins are not only against Stormwind. If we just announce his death, can Malfurion really believe it? Or Lor'themar? Or anyone else? We treat this in the same way that the Celestials did -- in public, so that everyone knows it is him. And we let everyone decide the when and the where and the how of his execution and it's all out in the open." Anduin said as he led the way toward the keep. "If I'd met him in battle, I would have killed him. But now it's a different matter. Solo actions are only going to lead to conspiracies."

"It didn't turn out well last time," Mathias growled.

Silence stretched between them at that bitter truth. He realized that there wasn't much he could say to his Spymaster that didn't sound completely foolish or ill-considered. Mathias would do as ordered, but only up to a certain point; a line that may have been tested but hadn't been crossed yet. He was on dangerous ground now, and could only hope that the man would trust his plan. As they mounted the steps of the keep, he said to Mathias, "I'm waiting for Khadgar to show up. Can you find Flynn and bring him here? I have a mission the two of you."

"Flynn?"

"Yes. He's the most glib talker that I've ever met -- and right now, this mission needs a convincing, charming lie. And while you are both charming and convincing, we need someone who can feed a story to a nymph."

Mathias gave him a hard stare and then nodded. "I'll be back shortly," he said.

**~o0O0o~ ~o0O0o~ ~o0O0o~**

The D.E.H.T.A encampment was, as Mathias suspected, in the middle of a windswept tundra plain made up of short grasses and lichens. A dark winter bird, perhaps a lesser winddarter, shrilled a long note as it dived toward a hole in one of the tall spires of rock -- a "hoodoo", someone called them as he and Flynn made their way towards the center of the encampment. Their disguises should hold up for a short encounter; he'd met Archdruid Lathorius before, but the Archdruid probably wouldn't connect a stocky half-elf with Mathias Shaw and with any luck all the attention would be on Flynn.

The camp was a circle of Kaldorei all-weather tents, somewhat bleached and battered by the Northrend snows and winds, that stood next to a large sign that read 'D.E.H.T.A'. A large straw figure labeled "Hemet Nessingwary" burned merrily on a pile of stones in the middle of a small pond and someone appeared to be roasting marshmallows over it. 

Flynn gave him an outrageous wink and then turned to approach the busy camp. "Ahoy there. Got someone to help a poor lil' fella?" 

A bear druid stood on her hind legs and looked down at them. "You both appear to be fine," she said. "But we do have healers here. Sit down, enjoy the fire. We have many non-meat things to eat here."

Flynn looked around nervously. "It's not me. It's poor little Natty. He needs some help."

"Natty?" Zaza, the frost nymph trotted up, her eyes wide with concern.

Flynn reached into the bag and pulled out a small and rather ragged-looking sheep with dark red eyes. "I got him away from the bleeder farms."

"Bleeder farms?" the bear druid wrinkled her nose. "Never heard of them."

"Natty here's a brand new breed of sheep that they bred from the ... Kelsey Reds. Breed them for blood and wool so they can get a new type of sheep that they can stand in a pen and bleed whenever anyone needs blood for sausages and things. And shave them for wool unless they need meat," he said in his most sincere tone. 

"Bah," Nathanos the sheep bleated.

The entire encampment crowded around, looking concerned. "He looks rather thin, and that's very odd gear," Archdruid Lathorious said. "Doesn't sound good, either. Really harsh tone in that voice."

"He's kinda testy and hasn't been eating good," Flynn said as he rubbed the wooly head, avoiding the sheep's attempts to bite him. "Comes of bein' so mistreated. Do you know that they were actually making him eat blood?"

"No!" The druids exchanged horrified looks.

"I'm going to report it to Stormwind. He's evidence, but we need someone to take care of him until we can build the right pen to transport him back home. " Flynn, all innocent sincerity, held up the small sheep. 

"Poor little Natty," Zaza said, rubbing the grayish wool along the sheep's back.

"BAH!"

Flynn nodded. "Paid a sheep-healer look at him an' they put him in that harness that's specially padded for him and enspelled to help him heal. It's got a thing there for a leash so he don't get lost. Is there any way he could stay here for a month? I have ten gold to pay for his care." Flynn held out a small purse.

Zaza leaned in. "Oh, Archdruid! I can keep him. I've still got that isolation cage in my tent and nobody but us will know he's around. Just look at those cute red eyes! And those teensy weensy hooves! It's adorable! And they were going to treat him as a blood factory?"

"Swear on my grandmother that's what they said." 

"BAH!"

"Done. I'll do it." Zaza scooped Natty up into her arms, cooing over him.

Flynn handed her the gold and the leash. "Here's an address where you can reach me. The harness should stay on. You can feel how the flesh below is somewhat ... damaged. The animal-mender said that would fix him up. Same with the little leather cuffs on his legs."

"I'll take very good care of him." She squeezed Natty again and he kicked at her and missed.

Mathias tugged his sleeve. "We can't stay too long. If someone with dogs comes by looking for us..."

"We'll tell them that we saw you in the distance moving toward the steam pools," the Archdruid said.

Flynn shouldered his pack and the two of them trudged down the road toward Valiance Keep. As they crested the hill he smiled at Mathias. "Told you I could sell it. And a month in the care of that nymph is going to feel like half a century to that nasty lich. Khadgar seemed pretty confident that his spell couldn't be dispelled by anyone except himself."

"I'm not entirely convinced," Mathias grumbled. "But I couldn't think of anything better."

"I thought it was a pretty evil suggestion, myself," Flynn said cheerfully.

"Bah."


	13. SPOILER (scene rewrite)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER - REWORK OF THE ABDUCTION CINEMATIC - SPOILER SPOILER
> 
> ...because it irritated the fire out of me. Anduin, you're a freakin' PRIEST! Act like one! Crown Prince Anduin would have wiped the floor with those Mawsworn.
> 
> PROMPT: _I will maintain a realistic assessment of my strengths and weaknesses. Even though this takes some of the fun out of the job, at least I will never utter the line "No, this cannot be! I AM INVINCIBLE!!!"_

Anduin Wrynn, High King of the Alliance, steeled himself and waved the guards back as he approached his father's cenotaph. The anniversary of Varian's death was always a difficult day for him. He hated the official day of mourning, hated the pomp and circumstance of receiving nobles' pledges of loyalty and the sermon in the cathedral and the parade to the tombs of the kings of Stormwind. But the Day of the Fallen in Stormwind was an important tradition that stretched back to the kingdom of Alterac and this year Genn and the nobles had all pressed him to strengthen the tradition.

His father, Varian, hated the custom and scaled down the event to a more modest and private ritual. But this year the kingdom and its refugees had been battered emotionally and financially and Anduin allowed himself to be pressured into changing it to a day of honor for those lives lost in the brutal wars of the past five years.

What he wanted most was to be alone to deal with the inevitable flashbacks and feelings of guilt that he had not done enough and could never be enough. Instead, he put on the heavy gilded Lion Armor and lead the public celebrations, doing -- as his father might have put it -- "what a king must do."

There was a heavy blanket of ash- gray clouds that hung low and heavy over Stormwind mirrored his own mood. He leaned over and patted Reverence's neck. "Last event," he whispered. He didn't add that it was the worst for him. Soon enough he could retreat to his own private sanctuary in the keep. There'd be a warm bath waiting and a light meal and his page had promised to show him a gnomish music box with some tunes from Ironforge. 

Genn Greymane reined his grey stallion to a halt beside Reverence and both kings dismounted and handed the reins to a guard. He smiled faintly, rested his hand briefly on Anduin's shoulder, and gave an encouraging nod. Together they walked down the marble pathway to the tall cenotaph tomb, feet brushing against the fallen petals of kingsblood flowers placed along the edges of the walkway. 

The monument, loved by the people of Stormwind, was a painful reminder not of Varian Wrynn as a leader and administrator, but as a defeated warrior-king who led his troops into battles rather than staying in the rear with his strategists. The face, though, was a reasonable enough likeness to cause an echo of grief to well up inside Anduin. He touched the statue's shoulder and closed his eyes, feeling the weight of history and expectations bearing down on his soul. 

There was a distant rumble of thunder. Reverence suddenly shrilled a challenge at the sky and reared, almost tearing his reins from the guard's hands. Metal rattled as the Lion's Guard drew their swords and came on alert. Well-trained war stallions like Reverence were guardians as well as fighters and the horse's actions weren't that of an animal startled by thunder.

The winds died. Light flared across the sky and Anduin looked up, seeing moving shapes outlined by the brightness... winged beings, like Val'kyr, only dark and very large; a group of perhaps fifteen with swords drawn, diving down towards them. He shouted a warning to Genn and threw up a shield of light around as much of the area as he could manage. The dark angels slammed against the barrier with enough force to jolt him.

One landed in front of Genn and slammed its sword against Anduin's shield. Greymane, now in worgen form, lunged for the dark figure, slashing at it with his razor-sharp claws as the Lion's Guard charged through Anduin's shield and began attacking. Several more dived from above, slamming into the radiant light, battering against it with sword and shield.

He turned and slapped a Chastise spell on one of them and saw it fall, but his barrier was weakening and he renewed the shielding spell again. Two of the Lion's Guard were down now and he tossed a quick healing spell toward them both. The largest attacker battered away most of the remaining guards and then slammed its sword hilt against Anduin's shielding spell. He felt it give way and threw a shackling spell at the attacker and then Chastise. 

It was like trying to shackle water.

Genn slashed and leaped, claws snagging the robe of one of the flying figures. He wheeled to follow it as a second attacker suddenly dropped from the sky onto him, staggering him. 

"Genn!" Anduin leaped forward.

Fights turn on the tiniest of events. For a brief moment, all Anduin's shields were down and the two largest attackers uncoiled black lashes tipped with energy-leeching spikes. One of them snaked around his wrist and began draining his mana. He reached for the binding, but the second lash circled his body and pinned his other arm. 

He tried to snap off a Chastise spell, but there was not enough mana to even try a simple spell. His captors laughed and pinions snapped. There was a yanking sensation and the ground swept away from him and he was falling, falling up into the storm gray sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not perfect, by any means, but... GAH!
> 
> Since I play holy priest as my main, the "stare at the sky and pull out a sword" reaction made me want to kick him... and then take him out for some PVP (which I am notoriously bad at, but that a king who's a priest really needs to know how to do... ya know?)
> 
> I sure hope they change that cinematic.


	14. Swordplay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genn's helping Anduin with his swordsmanship. It's not going well.
> 
> PROMPT: _I will fund research to develop tactical and strategic weapons of all types and covering a full range of needs so my options aren't limited to "hand-to-hand combat with swords" or "blow up the planet"_

"Out of practice, Wrynn?" Mathias Shaw leaned casually against a training dummy as the High King of the Alliance sagged against another one, knees weak, arms sore, wondering blearily if he had enough energy left to walk back to Stormwind keep. The Spymaster had just the faintest of smiles on his face and Anduin felt a momentary temptation to tap him rather hard with a Chastise spell -- but he didn't have the energy for it. He pulled the water flask from his belt and gulped down several mouthfuls of water.

Genn Greymane sheathed his sword. "He's doing better, Shaw. His stamina's pretty good and his arm is strong." 

The faint praise stung deeply, reminding him that he wasn’t the warrior-king that everyone wanted. Anduin glanced down at Shalamayne, his father's sword, as the two men continued to discuss him as if he was some sort of trained horse that wasn't living up to their standards, It was possible to change what you were; who you were -- Wyrmbane made a successful transition from warrior to paladin. Surely priest to paladin wasn’t impossible.

A movement beside him interrupted his glum thoughts. "Your problem, Wrynn, isn't your sword fighting techniques," Flynn Fairwind said softly as he offered Anduin another cup of water.

Anduin held up his hand, cutting off the flow of conversation. "I don't think I need any more advice," he said. "I know just how bad I am at this."

But the Kul Tiran was an unstoppable force, it seemed. Flynn glanced back at the other two and said quietly, "The problem is that you’re a very good priest." 

“Really, I don’t want to discuss it.” Genn and Mathias were now arguing over whether they needed to teach Anduin to fight with the swords separated into components rather than as a single weapon. He wiped his hands on his towel and waved at the two men, striding away from the practice arena before they could call him back. 

Flynn was on his heels. “Wait, Wrynn.”

“Don’t want to hear it, really. I’m just not in the mood.”

“Please. Just one minute and then I’ll not bother you again.”

He paused at the door to the stable yard. “Promise?” His war stallion, Reverence, trotted toward him, ears pricked forward, whickering a soft greeting.

“Absolutely.”

He dug in his belt pouch for a slice of dried apple and held it toward his horse. “Very well. Out with it.”

The Kul Tiran leaned against a fence post. “What if the next time they cross swords with you, you remember that you are a priest? Do that scream-thing and break their stance and plan. Hit them with whatever that smack-your-head spell is. Toss up a shield and use your other spells like the duelists do.”

“But…”

“I’ve seen duelists. Holy priests do more than heal. What if you quit being ashamed of what you are and started showing what you can do?”

Reverence nosed against Anduin’s palm, looking for another slice of fruit. He rubbed the soft muzzle thoughtfully.

Flynn smiled, his eyes twinkling. “I also heard something of what a cheeky little bugger did to SI:7 agents in Pandaria.”

“I can’t do that. Genn’s my mentor. He and Mathias are my friends.”

“Neptulon’s tentacles, Wrynn -- they’re training you to fight. If someone comes after you with a sword, I guarantee they’re not your friend. If the only thing you know is how to bang swords with a friend, you’ll be dead meat. Next time, leave the warrior of the light act at home and treat them to a session with the cheeky little bugger. It’ll do you all a world of good.”

~o0O0o~

Genn’s greatsword slashed through the air, slamming into Shalamayne and sending Anduin staggering backward. “Now follow through,” the older man snapped. “Overhand attack. Get your feet under you, quickly! Don’t shuffle.” He swung the weapon again.

Anduin raised Shalamayne to deflect the blow, took a breath, lunged toward Genn, and set off the ear-splitting Psychic Scream spell. Genn’s eyes went wide and wild and he shifted, half wolf and half man, stumbling and clutching the sword in front of him. A quick tap with the Chastise spell sent him staggering again, dazed for a moment, which was just enough… just barely enough… to reach inward and grab the part of the worgen’s mind that controlled his movements. Genn fought against it, growling and going stiff, but Anduin forced the long fingers to uncurl and then very gently walked him off the fishing pier into the lake beside the practice field.

There was a shout of laughter, quickly muffled from the area of the target dummies and Anduin looked back. Flynn grinned and gave him a mock salute. “Nicely done, Wrynn, but I hope you have a good follow up.”

He looked back toward the lake where Genn, in worgen form, was rising like a wet furry mermaid from the depths, eyes glowing fiery gold, teeth bared.

“Uhoh.” Anduin started backing up.

“Try the all-purpose survival mode, Wrynn,” Flynn yelled. “RUN! I’ll distract him with your towel or something.”

He turned on his heels and fled, laughing.


	15. Pun'kin Chunkin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magical vegetables meet magic in a ficlet that only vaguely resembles the prompt. Like that's really new, eh?
> 
> PROMPT: _I will be secure in my superiority. Therefore, I will feel no need to prove it by leaving clues in the form of riddles or leaving my weaker enemies alive to show they pose no threat._

“Neptulon's eyeballs! Now what?” Flynn Fairwind jerked upright as a ghostly shriek rang over Goldshire. The duelists at the salle mostly ignored the shouts and screams from the center of the small town, but the four SI:7 operatives and Mathias Shaw rose as Anduin Wrynn, High King of the Alliance, stood up with a scowl. Flynn hastily put his mug of beer down and scrambled to his feet.

Up until this moment it had been a reasonably good day. Mathias, working with the owners of the largest dueling salle in Goldshire, arranged for Anduin to visit the establishment in disguise to watch some of the duels featuring the better spellcasters in the area. His idea, which Genn Greymane reluctantly endorsed, was for the king to watch the bouts and to see what combat strategies might be workable for him in combat. 

Flynn didn’t find the spell-oriented fights as interesting as some of the bare-knuckle brawls in Kul Tiras. Anduin and Mathias watched intently, marking checklists on their notepads and sat with their heads together after each match, discussing the fights enthusiastically while Flynn read the match-up sheets and tried to decide who to bet on next. 

Something howled, and Flynn could make out words: _“Prepare yourselves, the bells have tolled! Shelter your weak, your young and your old! Each of you shall pay the final sum. Cry for mercy, the reckoning has come!"_

Anduin bared his teeth in a grimace of disgust, removed his disguise, and started toward the door. “He’s early, and I am _not_ in the mood for this,” he growled. Pit managers hastily cleared the way as he mounted the steps, followed by the SI:7 security detail, Flynn, and Mathias. As he flung the door open, Flynn could see flames on the top of the armory across the street. People ran past, carrying buckets of water. 

“More buckets over here!” someone shouted. A mage with a water elemental hurried past. Something dark swooped overhead, howling, and the crowd scattered as Flynn reached for his cutlass. He tracked the shape as it wheeled and headed back toward the town; a rider of some sort on what might be a horse with felfire covered feet.

Anduin stalked into the middle of the road as the crowd scattered. Whispers of “the king!” echoed around the edges of the street as the town’s marshal and SI:7 cleared a space around him. Curious onlookers edged forward and Flynn thought he saw a few bets being exchanged as Anduin stopped, legs braced, arms folded, staring toward the sky. 

Mathias positioned himself some six paces behind the king. He waved an agent into position and then turned back toward Anduin. The ghostly horseman galloped down through the sky, swinging a fiery red sword and shrieking curses at the lone figure in the middle of the street.

Anduin raised his right hand. The Horseman’s sword swung forward in a wide arc.

Bright fire descended from the heavens. Thunder slammed against their ears. When the flare ended, the only things in the middle of the road were the king, a pile of ash, and a fel-flamed pumpkin.

Anduin picked the Horseman’s head up in his gloved hands, holding it level with his eyes. “You’re _early_ ,” he snarled at the fel-flamed object. “And I am _very_ displeased.”

The eyes seemed to brighten and then dim, and Flynn thought he heard a whispering voice reply. The people standing around suddenly seemed a lot less eager to get a closer look at the king and what was left of the Horseman, perhaps suspecting that such actions were going to put them on some kind of royal List of Displeasure.

“You gave your oath to my father.” Anduin’s eyes narrowed. “Furthermore, you’re using _real fire_ and causing real damage to the kingdom.”

The whispers grew louder. The head seemed to be speaking, though the king seemed to be the only one who could understand it.

“That’s irrelevant. The terms set down for you were strict. You can’t just suddenly decide to change everything. If you want to renegotiate, then you know how to approach this. But _this_ is not the way we do things around here.” It wasn’t possible for a fel-limned pumpkin to actually flinch, but this one seemed to Flynn’s eyes to waver under that harsh, flat statement.

He set the pumpkin back on the ash heap. “Fix it and go.”

Flames flickered out. A cloud of ash rose from the road and when it vanished there was only a plain pumpkin, shattered on the ground, and nothing more.

Anduin handed the dueling salle owner some coins and turned to summon his gryphon. “Nothing to see here,” he said to the crowd as he stepped into the saddle. “Just a man yelling at a vegetable.” His escorts urged their mounts skyward and waited to follow him back to the keep.

Flynn stared down at the remains of the pumpkin and then back at Mathias. “Tides -- and I thought we had some peculiar things in Kul Tiras.”


	16. Titanic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: _I will not pick up a glowing ancient artifact and shout "Its power is now mine!!!" Instead I will grab some tongs, transfer it to a hazardous materials container, and transport it back to my lab for study._
> 
> ...which is pretty much what Khadgar and the Council of Six SHOULD have done. But do they listen to me?

“Did they run out of all the other colors and get stuck with purple?” Flynn Fairwind muttered as he and Mathias Shaw followed Prophet Velen and Anduin up the long staircase of Dalaran’s Violet Citadel. He could hear shouting ahead; the kind of noise that indicated irate citizens with stabby items and torches rather than cheering onlookers at a drinking contest. 

As they approached the doorway, the sounds grew louder. Flynn strategically positioned himself behind the bulk of the Dranei prophet, having learned at an early age that being the biggest person in the front of a group meant everyone attacked you first. It was much better to stand outside the door and watch the action before stepping up and giving someone the thumping that they well deserved.

They came to a halt on the predictably pale violet-colored landing outside a large doorway. A cluster of important-looking people, both Horde and Alliance, were milling around. Two exhausted guardians were sitting under the tall, columnar evergreen tree on the left. Someone had set up a fence just beyond the dark purple standards framing the arched doorway and three other guardians stood in front of it, watching whatever it was inside the main chamber of the citadel. He could hear someone inside… a lot of someones, actually,… shouting the same phrase over and over again -- “I’m gonna light you up, Sweetcheeks!”

As war cries went, it lacked something. He peered over Anduin’s shoulder and saw that the chamber was filled with identical copies of a male gnome in violet robes, shouting at each other and waving their hands. In the middle of the group near the long staircase was a tall shape that he recognized as one of the bandage-wrapped Ethereal.

Velen turned to a tall human in silver and black leathers. “What happened, Ravenholdt?”

“The guardians there said that Millhouse Manastorm came in earlier and interrupted an audience with several Heroes and said he wanted to talk to Khadgar about an artifact. Khadgar told him to wait, and Manastorm set down something. That Ethereal appeared and suddenly everyone around it was transformed into copies of Manastorm. Some of the other guardians rushed in and also were transformed. In fact, anyone who gets just inside that fence we’ve set up is instantly transformed.” 

Anduin lifted a hand and then lowered it with a sigh. “The Ethereal over there is some sort of projection. Can’t hit it with a spell.”

Ravenholdt nodded. “We’ve tried hitting it with all kinds of things. That had a lot of entertainment value for a short time, but nothing worked. They're acting like they've been sheeped -- waljing around aimlessly, not able to communicate.”

Mathias eyed the chaos in the room beyond. “Any idea what Manastorm wanted?”

One of the wandering gnomes ran up to the fence, waving his hands frantically. “I wonder if this world has any world-destroying artifacts? We can't allow them to fall into the hands of the enemy, you know!”

“They seem to only be able to say certain things,” Ravenholdt added. “We’ve tried using signaling, getting them to write things, and so forth and the spell, whatever it is, doesn’t seem to allow many options. We do know that one of them left and came back. If that was the original Manastorm, he got something from the vaults and is now waiting to get out. We’ve had this place locked down with an anti-teleporting field. But we don’t know how to tell one of them from the others or how to shut this device off.”

“Witness the full power of Millhouse Manastorm!” the Gnome in front of them yelled.

“If we take them to separate rooms to interrogate, the real one will simply teleport off.” Ravenholdt shook his head. “The frustrating thing is that some of them seem to be trying to communicate.”

“Don't say I didn't warn ya!” another Gnome shouted.

Ravenholdt shrugged. “In any case, it’s turned into a stalemate. We can’t turn the Millhouse-maker off, we can’t sort out the real Millhouse from the fakes, and we’re not quite sure what to do. It was Vereesa Windrunner who suggested we send for you, Prophet.”

Velen nodded somberly. “And where is Vereesa?”

Ravenholdt, with a slightly guilty look, nodded toward the assemblage of Millhouses. “She stepped inside to try and bounce an arrow off the top of the thing and promptly joined the Millhouse Army.”

“You will all be my slaves! Er, I mean, hi!” the gnome standing at the fence replied.

Ravenholdt gestured at Velen and Mathias and walked a few paces away, speaking in a low voice..

Flynn eyed Anduin. “Well, there go the adults. That may take awhile.”

“If we’re lucky, it’ll take a lot of whiles.” The mischievous grin made him look like a boy of fifteen; not the king that he’d become.

“Right you are. Now that we’re unsupervised, let’s go see what _we_ can do about this.”

~ o0O0o ~ 

“There you are!” It was an hour before sunset as Anduin and Flynn, trailed by a small gnome in a full hazard suit, walked back up the staircase to the Violet Hold. Mathias was pacing in front of the Millhouse barrier, flanked by Velen and Ravenholdt.

Flynn and Anduin exchanged glances. “What’s the status now?” Anduin nodded toward the chamber.

“If you like disasters, it’s a perfect storm.” Mathias looked tired. “We’ve had all the guildmasters and the tinkerers offering suggestions and attempting fixes. So far, we’ve managed to add another fifteen Manastorms to our collection. And we’re running out of mana strudel.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing,” Anduin grinned. He turned back toward the barrier. “Now keep the others distracted and out of our way. We have a plan.”

“Your majesty --” Flynn rolled his eyes. When Mathias got formal, it meant he was going to try and overrule Anduin.

“Love, let us. He knows what he’s doing. And so do we.” He briefly caressed Mathias’ cheek. “Trust me.”

“I --”

“Trust me. Like you always do.” He leaned in and gave Mathias a brief kiss. “Anduin’s just going to mind control one of those wandering gnomes over to the device, give it a look-see through their eyes, and if he can see the on-off switch, he’ll get the body to press that button. Dead simple, eh? Like he did to Genn Greymane the other day.”

Mathias blinked. "I... I'd like to find some fault with that, but I can't."

Anduin stepped near the barrier and made a complex set of gestures, then froze, his right arm in the air. One of the Manastorms stopped shouting suddenly and began a purposeful walk toward the Ethereal’s platform. He stopped in front of it, looked down for a moment, and then pressed a button. After a moment, Anduin lowered his arm and looked up and nodded. 

“My turn!” Flynn grinned at Mathias and darted between the guardians, vaulting over the fence before anyone could reach him. He sprinted for the Etheriel’s platform and planted himself on top of it, his boot covering the large red inset button. “That did it. No transformation. The machine’s off.”

He blew a kiss at Mathias, who looked as if he was torn between killing Flynn and kissing him. “Now, let’s sort out our Manastorms, shall we? On the count of three…”

The Gnomish woman unzipped her suit. Anduin handed her a wrench and pushed past the guardians to open the fence. “I believe the pleasure of this will be mostly all yours,” he smiled and closed the gate after her.

There was a howl of “There's no place you can hide from me, Millhouse! No place!” followed by a scream of real terror as Millicent threw her wrench with remarkable accuracy toward the figure who was running up the long staircase 

“My, isn’t she the bloodthirsty one,” Flynn grinned as she sprinted past him. He watched as Andin performed the mass dispelling spell and the gnomes around him gradually resumed their ordinary shapes. 

Khadgar stalked out of the crowd, followed by the rest of the Council of Six. He turned around and glared at them. “And the next time someone comes in with what they say is a Titan device, nobody -- and I mean absolutely nobody -- is to put the thing in the middle of the chamber and say ‘what does this do’ and press a button. Any button.”

Flynn quickly vacated his position on the device and joined Mathias and Anduin on the landing outside. “Easy-peasey,” he said.

There was another panicked scream from inside and a soft _ka-whop_ from the main room. Millhouse himself bolted out of the door, darting between guards, as screams of “Aaalllriiiight!! Who ordered up an extra large can of whoop-ass?” rose from the throats of dozens of transformed Millhouses in the room behind.

Flynn sighed and looked at Anduin. “I think we should charge extra for this one.”


	17. Customer Disservice, Stormwind Style

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT _Mythical guardians will be instructed to ask visitors' name, purpose of visit, and whether they have an appointment instead of ancient riddles._
> 
> -~oOo~-
> 
> I'm sure you'll NEVER guess what prompted this one...

Cries of "Sanctuary!" rang out from Stormwind Keep's garden area as a small figure dodged around the shrubbery and darted for the stone hallway that led to the throne room. "Sanctuary!" 

A faintly glowing force field flanked by Royal Guards and Royal Secretary Sarisse Landow stopped the frantic charge at the mouth of the corridor. "Greetings. I am part of the The Superior Polyformic Hyper-Yield Neutron Xport Request System,” Sarisse said. “Do you have an appointment?"

The Gnome gaped at her. “The what?”

“SPHINX --The Superior Polyformic Hyper-Yield Neutron Xport Request System. This system has been installed to help streamline requests to the Crown and to redirect other requests to the proper areas. SPHINX is responsible for handling thousands of quest requests per day. Do you have an appointment?” Sarisse held her pen carefully poised over her clipboard.

The Gnome glanced back over his shoulder and flinched a distant howl of rage. "No time for that! This is an emergency! I'm demanding sanctuary, political asylum, and witness protection!"

"I’m sorry, but SPHINX doesn’t handle those requests at this portal.” Sarisse’s voice was bland and unruffled. “

 _“WHAT DO YOU MEAN -- YOU DON’T HANDLE THOSE REQUESTS?”_ he panted, his eyes wide with terror.

“Although SPHINX is still a prototype, it has kept out thousands of people with irrelevant requests. We constantly strive to improve the experiences of our valuable Heroes and Champions."

“Look, lady -- this IS Stormwind Keep, right? The king lives here, right? He grants sanctuary requests, right? THEREFORE I AM IN THE RIGHT PLACE!” 

Sarisse polished a speck of dirt off her glasses. “No. This entry portal is for quest turn-ins. Do you have a quest to turn in?" 

“Well, I’m on a quest to save my life!”

“The portal to Save Your Life is at the First Aid shop in --”

The shriek was a distinct set of words this time: "MILLHOUSE MANASTORM!" 

Manastorm fell to his knees, pleading. “Sanctuary! Political Asylum! Witness Protection! _ANYTHING!!!_ For the love of Light, just help me get away from her!”

Sarisse settled her glasses on her nose and consulted her clipboard. "Requests for sanctuary are made at the main keep entrance in the petitioner's chamber. Requests for political asylum go through the Stormwind Cathedral, lower chambers. Witness protection requests are verified and handled by SI:7 in Old Town. Would you like a map?"

The shouts were getting closer. The gnome made a gesture, vanished, and reappeared in the same spot. He stared at Sarisse, his face a mixture of confusion and horror. "What...?"

"The SPHYNX Request System comes with a magic dampening field, sir, to prevent unauthorized teleporting and attempted abuses.”

“What kind of lunatic does that?”

“If you have a complaint, you may file a petition at the back entrance of the keep next to the sewer grate and technical support will look into it.” Sarisse looked back down at her clipboard. "If you would like to turn in a quest for a reward, I will be happy to...."

_"AHA!! MILLHOUSE MANASTORM!" NOW I’VE GOT YOU!"_

Manastorm spotted a familiar figure walking toward them. “Mathias Shaw,” he howled. “It’s me! Millhouse Manastorm! I’m a wanted gnome! I’m here to turn myself in!” He looked backward frantically as a female gnome barreled toward them. 

“Sorry. Criminals are turned in at the Stormwind Stockades,” Shaw said smoothly. “SPHINX will be happy to give you a …” 

The rest of the detail was lost in a *pop* as the fugitive teleported from the garden to elsewhere. Millicent Manastorm skidded to a stop in front of Shaw, Sarisse, and the guards.

“He went thataway,” Shaw said mildly, and pointed. "Would you like a map?"  



	18. A Night In Lonesome October

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (yes, that's a reference to the Zelazny book)
> 
> This one's not humorous. Tired Jaguar was tired.
> 
> Prompt: _I will have my fortress exorcized regularly. Although ghosts in the dungeon provide an appropriate atmosphere, they tend to provide valuable information once placated._

The fel-plated hooves of the ghostly horse glowed green against the darkness. _"Prepare yourselves," the voice howled, "the bells have tolled! Shelter your weak, your young and your old! Each of you shall pay the final ... **oh bugger!**_

The Horseman reined to a hasty halt in front of the High King of the Alliance, Andun Wrynn, who had positioned his white stallion, Reverence, squarely in the middle of the dirt road that served as the main street for the town of Goldshire. Townspeople and Heroes alike paused their frantic activities, buckets in hand. Nervous townfolk and visiting orphans crowded closer around the tall figure of the Orphan Matron. . 

King nodded to ghost. "Good morning, Sir Thomas. I'm sorry to interrupt your gallivanting about the area, but we need to speak once you've finished your morning activity. I'll be at the Tower of Azora." He glanced at the people around him. "Please excuse the interruption -- continue with what you were doing.." He clicked his tongue and Reverence began a stately march toward the town's end, flanked by Spymaster Mathias Shaw and followed by a brace of SI:7 agents in dark clothing. 

The Horseman was waiting for them by the time they reached the tower. He dismissed his ghost steed as Anduin dismounted. "Your majesty?"

"Thank you for coming. I'd like to talk with you for a bit." He waved his escort off and Shaw dropped back to just out of earshot distance. "So how's the haunting going?"

"Right good of your majesty to ask. The flames are good quality this year -- not too hot. The folks seem to enjoy the scare. Does a body good to see 'em run and scream like that. Good set of lungs on 'em. Got more tourists this year. People need a bit of fun after the war."

"And you, yourself?"

The ghostly knight paused and his eyes briefly flared with turquoise fire. "Interestin' question. None o' the Wrynn kings ever asked me that. Only you. Old mad Sir Thomas, tearing up the land, howling things he doesn't half mean after all this time. Lost between knowing what's live and what's dead."

"A king has to care for all his land; for the little things as well as the big, Thomas. Has to care who lives and who dies and what stories come of them."

"You can't do it for a whole nation, your majesty. I may be mad, but I do know that much. too much to juggle."

"I know. When I feel like all the big things in the world are coming crashing down on me; when I feel like there's nothing I can do for anyone or any of it, I turn to the small things -- to the old traditions that gave us comfort." He chuckled softly. "Like Wyl, my manservant, always insisting that you must eat a pickle on New Year's eve to make room for a sweeter New Year. I never quite understood that one, but we used to sneak a jar out of the pantry and eat one each just before I'd go to bed."

"Pickles, they're simple stuff. You always know where you stand with a pickle." His voice grew faint as if what was left of his mind wandered.

"It's been so busy. Hadn't thought of Wyl in the longest time."

"Do you still keep the tradition of making the bread?" The old ghost sounded hopeful. "I am not...allowed to come, of course, but is it still done?"

"It is. I'm terrible at it, so I make just the tiniest amount." Anduin chuckled briefly and then sobered. "Last year, I was afraid to ... to... ask. This year feels so dreadful and so fragile. I don't know if I will and I don't know what to expect. So many ghosts..."

"There is nothing that the living can give us and very little that we can give you, except perhaps a kind word. Kindness is food for the soul."

They were silent for long minutes and then Anduin turned back toward the tower. "I shouldn't keep Shaw and the others waiting. Thank you for coming, Sir Thomas. There will be a little bit of bread for you, too, this year, even if you can't come."

"May the land guard you, young king, from the dark tides we feel rising around us."


	19. Dig This (part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: _Before employing any captured artifacts or machinery, I will carefully read the owner's manual._
> 
> The astute reader might note that there is a grain of truth in a lot of this.

Dear Ma and Pa,

You wanted to know how my first dig with Dr. Harrison Jones is going - let me tell you, it has been very... educational. You remember how excited I was when I was told that I had been picked as a student member of the dig team. In hindsight, the key word there is "had." Also "student." 

Once I got to the actual site, I discovered that "assistant" means "dogsbody" and "student" is actually the codeword for "dogsbody to the dig chief's dogsbody." "Shovelbum" is someone who gets to shovel dirt around. " Dig Site" is a code word for "there is mud in EVERYTHING, including places where you don't want mud -- unless you're in the desert, where it changes. Then you get sand in everything."

I am making a list of the things I'm required to do as a student.

Students:  
* Dig holes  
* discourage undead trolls from eating the dig team  
* Get food for the team  
* discourage the spiders from thinking the dig team are food  
* make tea  
* keep the wandering druids out of the tea. (Long story)  
* Sift dirt. Lots of dirt.  
* Discourage hunter pets from ...adding items... to the dirt we just dug   
* Sift more dirt  
* Smile for the Important Tourists (ignore the others)  
* Square up sides of trenches with trowel  
* Remind Johnny Awesome that the trench is not a place for going AFK  
* fetch tools.  
* discourage Undead Dwarves from eating tools  
* sharpen trowels  
* Tell Johnny Awesome that he cannot go AFK in the tool sharpening area  
* sharpen shovels  
* Tell Johnny Awesome that you only sharpen shovels, not swords  
* Sift dirt (again. We have not run out of dirt yet.)  
* Collect the artifacts from the dirt  
* Put the sifted dirt in another dirt pile. Don't get them mixed up.  
* Keep the tourists from collecting artifacts from the dirt  
* Draw every tiny object we find on site plan  
* Keep the lizards from eating the drawings  
* Label stuff. EVERYTHING. Including the beer mugs from last night.  
* Find the beer mugs that the archaeologists were drinking from last night.  
* cover the site with dirt (the sifted dirt. Not the other kind) at night  
* chase off the velociraptors  
* discourage the local wildlife  
* report anything we find (except dirt) to the crew chief  
* Remind Maximillian the Paladin that our trench is not the grave of an ancient lich  
* Get drunk with natives and dig crew if you have any energy left

Today we found an artifact that Dr. Jones immediately declared was an ancient Nathrezim artifact that summons a creature from the Void to serve you tea. Dr. Bronzebeard immediately objected, saying it was an ancient Kul Tiran beer mug. After a long and heated argument where the shovelbums and students made themselves scarce, the two decided to settle it by licking the artifact (don't ask why. I'm still not sure.) 

They've scheduled the test for tonight, after the nightly Dig Drinking Period, so I am dispatching this missive to you while all the letter carrying Grummies are still sober.

your loving archaeological daughter,

Petrichlor Abyssinia

P.S. I'm told that if I keep up my sterling performance, I might get promoted to "assistant student shovelbum" or some variant of "digs dirt, drinks beer, hopes to not get set on fire by something or another."


	20. Dig This (part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: _I will not use any plan in which the final step is horribly complicated, e.g. "Align the 12 Stones of Power on the sacred altar then activate the medallion at the moment of total eclipse." Instead it will be more along the lines of "Push the button." ___

Dear Ma and Pa,

Welp, I've ended up in Silithus, but that wasn't where I started

This week we were (note: emphasis on 'were') at the Expedition dig location in Uldum, "consulting" with a Sin'dorei archaeologist named Belloc Brightblade and Brightblade's (ahem) "assistant." At least, that's what they say she is. 

The new dig was on the river delta south of the "lost city of Tol'vir", though how they can say it's lost is beyond me. It’s right there on the map and everybody knows where it is. In fact, it's the largest city in Uldum. I think they are just hoping that if they name it a "lost" city that it'll go away at some point. Fat chance -- though they almost had their wishes.

Once we got there, the archaeologists (and “assistant”) went off to a tent (with beer) to natter (with beer) over some findings (beer, it was. No, really) while the rest of us got down to the usual stuff:

* Dig holes (no surprise there)  
* Get food for the team   
* Square up the sides of the trenches.   
* discourage the Aqir spider-things from thinking the rest of the dig team are food   
* make tea (the "assistant" doesn't know the recipe for tea)  
* keep the lion-centaurs (Tol’vir) out of the tea. Cats and tea=NotAPrettySight  
* Sift dirt. And sand. But mostly dirt.  
* keep the crocolisks from eating the dig team.  
* Sift more dirt  
* Keep the hyenas from eating the dig team

Eventually the archaeologists came trundling out of the tent and signaled us to stop working and follow them. They led us to a small building that led to a tunnel… which led toward the sea, and eventually to several chambers underneath the ocean. 

We saw Titan runes, and a lot of graffiti. The Tol’vir diggers and I kept stopping to read the runes, which mostly said “wrong way!” and “dangerous thing ahead” and “Tekhan is a fink” (they’re not very inventive with insults.)

Inside the last chamber was a huge gate and beyond that some sort of underwater city. In front of the gate was a lumpy box with a big red button. That WOULD have started an argument about who pushes the button, but Brann Push-The-Button-First-And-Read-The-Manual-Later Bronzebeard pushed the button.

There was a whirr and something pushed up from the ceiling, flaring light. 

By this time, the Tol’vir diggers and I finished translating the manual. It basically said “the big red button is ‘self-destruct.’ You have till a count of 100 to exit.” We yelled and started backing out. Belloc was the first to notice and started heading out at a trot. 

Jones and Bronzebeard were still arguing. I argued with the head digger about running vs saving J&B. The diggers were reluctant to do anything until I pointed out that J&B pay our salaries. We all ran back and manhandled the two of them out of the tunnel just as it collapsed. 

Then the meteor fell out of the sky and obliterated the rest of the undersea city. It missed the Lost City, which is still there, and still not lost. Brann said we’re headed for some place with fewer meteors and more technology.

Please contact my advisor at the university and tell them that I’m changing my major to accounting.

Your loving daughter, 

Petrichlor Abyssinia


	21. EXCERPT:  From the Very Secret Diaries of Turalyon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: _If it glows, avoid it._
> 
> Why, yes, this IS a riff on http://www.ealasaid.com/misc/vsd/
> 
> Still not king.

**Day One:**  
Dranei crash _Xenedar_ on Argus. Ten thousand years of war and they still can’t drive.  
Luckily, my armor is still shiny. 

Prophet Velen finally showed up. Hasn’t aged a bit in 500 years. Hope someone else is driving the _Vindicaar._

**Day Two:**  
Some git let Illidan out of his cage. I’m blaming Blizzard. Caught him running his fingers over my shiny armor. I think he’s jealous. Or flirty.

**Day Three:**  
Velen tries to explain how 500 years for us is only 20 years for them. Very confusing. Illidan takes me aside to explain it’s a “wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey thing.” I think it was excuse to run his fingers over my shiny armor again.

Lightforged show up. No longer the shiniest. Illidan definitely a shiny armor fan.

**Day Four:**  
Long-lost son Arator shows up with note from Vereesa saying we owe her for 157,680 hours of babysitting. Apparently there is extra high hazard pay for teenage years. Very emotional reunion. 

Planning emotional reunion with banker and accountant to find out going rates for babysitting 

**Day Six:**  
Illidan and Xe’ra have big fight. Massive break-up. Xe’ra in pieces. Want to drop-kick Illidan into outer space but Blizzard won’t let me. 

On positive note, can use bits of Xe’ra to make armor even shinier than Lightforged armor. 

**Day Seven:**  
Now the shiniest, thanks to Xe'ra. 

Illidan getting very touchy with my armor. Still want to drop-kick him into outer space but will wait till he finishes polishing my armor.

later: Illidan's armor polishing technique very educational.

**Day Sixteen (maybe):**  
Hit many things, made them very dead. 

Aleeria says my shiny armor keeps her awake at night and decided to become Void Elf. Tried to tell her it was Illidan's fault.  
Will never understand women. Even after 500 years.

**Day Thirty-something:**  
Still hitting things and making them dead. Feel like I’ve been doing this for years but really only 12 months or so. Stupid wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey thing.

Sageras defeated. Stuck big sword in planet for revenge. Not sure where he hid that in his armor. Blizzard kicks him and Illidan into outer space.

On the bright side (joke), armor still shiny.

**Day uhm.. Thirty-eleventy:**

Arrived Stormwind. Has big statue of me. Not nearly shiny enough and nose is wrong. Met Spymaster Shaw. Seems the stabby sort.

Met Anduin. My armor is shinier. Suspect Wrathion polishes his armor. Wonder if I can persuade him to help me.

(the rest of the page appears to be charred by some sort of incendiary)


	22. THE VERY SECRET DIARIES OF Grand Artificer Romuul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT _All Ancient Temples will be nuked from orbit, since that's where Heroic Rebels tend to congregate or hide their HeroMecha. Likewise deep ocean rifts and untrammeled wilderness will also receive attention from the orbital bombardment planners._
> 
> From the VERY complete list: http://www.worldconquer.org/evil_overlord.html

_**Vindicaar, Day 1** _

Refused to let Velen drive the _Vindicaar_. Last time he drove, he got distracted and ran the _Exodar_ into a planet. The time before that, he crashed the _Genedar_ into Outland. Told him if he wants to run over another planet, he'll have to use someone else's ship. 

Illidan showed up. Appears to be vying for title of 'Blizzard’s Greatest Fashion Victim' or 'Most Cosmically Ensemble-ishly Challenged'

_**Vindicaar, Day 2** _

Arrived on Argus. Has been redecorated. Do not care for the color scheme. Velen went to cave on Argus to sulk, then came back. Assigned me to _Vindicaar's_ bridge. Operating transporter. Spend all day staring at Illidan, who is too obnoxious to die.

_**Vindicaar, Day 3** _

Still on transporter duty. Armies of Light were shot out of the sky. Am hiding keys to _Vindicaar_ in a safe place. Transport Velen to surface along with collection of what passes for assorted heroes around here. Rescued Turalyon, who is apparently too sexy to die. Aleeria, his wife, showed up, announced she is also too sexy to die. Confuses Illidan, who thought only way to avoid death was being terminally obnoxious.

_**Vindicaar, Day 8** _

Still on transporter duty. Illidan has "cunning plan" for defeating the Burning Legion -- him versus 1,000,000 demons because he's too sexy to die. Suggested to Turalyon that he could kill more demons if his armor was shinier. Offered to shine armor. Did not need that image in my head.

_**Vindicaar, Day 17** _

Illidan spent last week shining armor and trying to make collect calls to someone named Tyrande -- who isn't answering. Had Illidari build man-cave at Veiled Den where he can go to sulk. Turalyon's armor less shiny this week. Seems miffed.

_**Vindicaar, Day 25** _

Still on transporter duty. May have accidentally dropped the coordinates to Illidan’s man cave where the Legion could find them.

Ooops.

_**Vindicaar, Day 26** _

Illidan still alive. Definitely too obnoxious to die. On positive note, Turalyon getting armor polished again.

_**Vindicaar, Day 48** _

Tired of transport duties. Accepted position as Brann Bronzebeard’s archaeological assistant. Leaving for Uldum promptly. Taking keys to the _Vindicaar._ If Velen wants to run over another planet he’ll have to use someone else’s ship.


	23. THE VERY SECRET DIARIES OF Renzik (the Shiv)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AND THE PROMPT WAS.... _No part of my fortress will feature giant, free-standing stone statues or obelisks. While the sight of them would indeed be awe inspiring, it would be far too easy for a hero with superhuman strength or a well placed explosive charge to knock one over on top of me and/or my soldiers. Optionally, if I must have giant statues made out of myself, they will be made of Styrofoam and helium. This way, when the explosive charge does go off, there will be a short, morale boosting moment as I get to do the Evil Overlord Chipmunk command to slay my enemies._
> 
> This is probably Part 1. There's Probably a Part 2 somewhere in my brain.

The things I do for Stormwind...

Shaw handed off assignment to find and destroy something called Evil Overlord List. Says when last seen, Wrathion had it. Giving assignment to Romano, who's been whining about getting stuck with training the recruits. Complained that it was a task for minions. Told poncy little git that it was either find the list or go back to dagger drills. Poncy git flounced off to find list.

Romano found Shaw's large stash of mustache wax. He suspects from depressions in substance that it's being used for waxing things other than mustaches. Did not need that mental image. Also did not want to think about just HOW Romano found out that the depressions were from waxing things other than mustaches. Did not need that mental image, either. 

Romano reported that Millhouse Manastorm plans to turn statue of Varian Wrynn into glitter-filled statue of Manastorm constructed out of styrofoam and helium. Says it's a safety measure to keep statue of Varian from falling on nobles when they visit keep. Romano concerned that statue of Wrynn will fall on him. Suggests assassinating statue. Has anyone talked to the Nobles of Stormwind about the problems of inbreeding? 

Appraised by Romano that smarmy prat named Turalyon showed up at keep. Has been talking to Wrathion about armor polishing. Small fire reported in keep garden. Romano looks a bit singed. I suspect that mustasche wax was involved. Manastrom reported to have been at Canal Tailors, looking for designer for Minion Uniforms. Bribed tailor to talk Manastorm into pink sequins for his Troops of Terror.

Visited keep today, found dodgy poncy plonker named Turalyon on throne. Shaw won't let me assassinate him. Says Wrynn appointed Turalyon the Regent-Just-In-Case. "In case of what" I says. "In case that we learn that Freebooter Horde is coming to attack keep shortly." Takes me around back of throne, points out "Stab me here" target plastered on back of Turalyon's shiny armor. Seems to be king Anduin's handwriting. Not sure why we're looking for some mythical 'evil overlord' list when we've got Anduin Wrynn on our hands.

N.B. Missed attack on keep. Apparently someone stabbed Turalyon in the fracas. And the back. And several other places.

Encoded Graccu's Mincemeat Fruitcake recipe, put it in file folder labeled "Evil Overlord Secrets" and "accidentally" left it in the Pig and Whistle tavern for Manastorm to find. Could either be a good thing or a bad thing depending on your tastes. Probably should keep it out of the king's hands, in any case.

The things I do for Stormwind...


	24. THE VERY SECRET DIARIES OF Renzik (the Shiv) Part 2 (short)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All I could manage for today.

...the things I do for Stormwind...

Attempting to maintain plausible deniability for the Great Plague of Stormwind Fruitcake by blaming it on Manastorm. Not sure Shaw is buying this. 

Confirmed reports that Manastorm is attempting to buy or rent a property for his Ultimate Secret Base here in Stormwind. Informed Shaw. Shaw assigned me to the "prevent it by any means" detail as he has another mission for himself. Browsed through reports on Shaw’s desk when he left. Apparently there is a critical shortage of mustache wax in Stormwind.

Bribed Canal Tailor to inform Manastorm that proper Evil Overlord outfit ALWAYS has sequins -- in colors that contrast with his Legions of Terror so that people can tell him apart from his Legions. At the going price of sequins he should just about be able to afford a cup of coffee after he outfits his Legion of Terror. 

Checked Manstrorm's bank account. Seems to be ordering an unusual amount of glitter and mustache wax. Am beginning to feel a bit concerned about his future plans for Stormwind.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"If we shadows have offended,  
>  Think but this, and all is mended,  
> That you have but slumbered here  
> While these visions did appear.  
> And this weak and idle theme,  
> No more yielding but a dream,_
> 
> Shakespeare, Puck's Speech from 12th Night

Highguard Kralius trotted in, his light armor squad in close formation behind him, dressed in full battle gear. "Your Majesty, the Horde freebooters are staging an assault."

"Again? Dwarven district?" High King Anduin Wrynn sighed wearily

"They're coming up from the Old Town area this time."

"Well, that's a change. Don't know that it's the most sensible choice for them, but that particular bit is not my problem. Meanwhile... " He rose and signaled to his guards. "This audience is at an end. We have an incoming attack. The guards will escort you to a place of safety. Please follow their instructions and allow us room to prepare for the attack."

There were groans and grumbles but the petitioners allowed themselves to be herded to safety as Mathias Shaw moved into position behind the king. Flynn Fairwind, was the next to arrive. "Garden's all cleared, librarians locked themselves in the archives," he announced as he took up his position behind Mathias. Khadgar portaled in, carrying two disgusted-looking sheep. Anduin quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Caught up with Manastorm," was all the Archmage said. "And brought Nathanos, as requested."

"It would be a shame if they missed this." Anduin's grin was infectious.

"Bah."

Renzik trotted up from the hallway. "Smoke bombs in place. Civilians are cleared out of the way. Guard's ready."

A mage portal opened with a slight crackle and hum and Grand Artificer Rommul stepped through into the throne room. He bowed to the king and took up a position near the map room door. "All is ready, Your Majesty."

"Now we wait." Anduin nodded to his court as the distant sounds of combat rang out. "Places, everyone. It won't be long." 

There were shouts from the guards at the keep's entrance and then a roar of _"Loktar Ogar"_ from dozens of throats. Metal clashed and rang and above the shouts rose the sound of the thunder of feet... and hooves. The war party surged up the long hallway and there were shouts of pain and despair as guards were struck down. The guards at the throne end of the hall braced themselves, but the Horde swept over them like a tidal wave, throwing them aside as they charged toward the king, weapons raised.

Anduin nodded toward Romuul. Shields of light suddenly ringed the room, separating Horde from Alliance. The leaders of the charge stopped in confusion but were shoved forward by the ones coming up from behind. Weapons poked at the barrier, spells crackled, but the shields held firm as the attackers tried to take down the defenses. 

Anduin stood and loudly cleared his throat. There was a sudden silence and eyes turned toward him. He smiled gently. "While I wish I could say it was a pleasure to see you again, I'm afraid it isn't. However, it is time for a goodbye. So... Goodbye." His finger stabbed down and punched a button inset on the arm of this throne. 

The throne room floor dissolved and the entire war party dropped out of sight as tinny carnival music wafted up from their designated landing spot.

 _"Welcome to the Dunge-o-matic 2500,"_ a cheerful voice said. _"Teleportation has been disabled and 'get out of jail free' cards have been revoked. In order for each of you to depart with or without your loot, you will need to each collect 5,000 Bits Of Random Dungeon Thingies._

_"Remember that Random Thingies aren't the same as Squished Thingies, which also drop from the loot along with Cinnamon-flavored Thingies and Nathanos' Peculiar Thingies._

The last remark was met with a particularly evil-sounding "BAH" from one of the sheep.

_"Random Thingies drop in random numbers from each mob, though to be honest you only get 1 Random Thingy per mob if it's your turn to loot, in accordance with Blizzard Rules O Loot. Lots of Random Thingies -- at least two per player -- drop off the six Level 8,000 bosses. Should you run out of things to kill, the mobs are on a 2 hour respawn timer. Good luck. Deposit your Random Thingies at the doorkeeper for access to the Orgrimmar Portal and the Get Me The Heck Out Of Here spell. Terms and conditions apply. Offer expires in 40 days."_

There was a roar of outrage and clatter of weapons. 

The mechanical voice continued smoothly, _"Please double check to see that all of your belongings have arrived with you safely. Lost items are handled by our Lost Item Department on the thirtieth sub-sub floor of the basement, just past the Level 4589 Elevator Boss."_

Anduin stabbed the button with his finger and the door cycled shut, closing off all sound from below. The lightforged shields around the throne room powered down. Grand Artificer Romuul glanced around and nodded. "All clear," he announced smugly.

"And that's a wrap, then." Anduin gestured, and servants appeared to pass out glasses of champagne to the assembled company, as a bright spotlight illuminated the center of the throne room.

_A short and chubby (and frankly rather scruffy) jaguar wearing an Evil Overlord tee shirt steps into the spotlight in front of the assembled company. She raises her own cup high in a toast. "Good readers all, thank you for your kudos, your eyeballs... err... your reading counts, and your comments which kept this little company of characters playful and and inspired amused this long Write-tober. May the next year bring you all treasures of friendship, light, laughter -- all the good and bright and true things that cheer and comfort our hearts and souls. Happy Halloween!"_

_Her assembled Company of Characters (yes, even grouchy sheep-ish Nathanos) step into the spotlight on the bare and empty stage and raise their cups and join her in her salute to you, the reader._

_**"Happy Halloween, one and all!"** _


End file.
